


My Little Pup

by Turtle54



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Eventual Non-Con, F/M, Negan Being Negan (Walking Dead), Possessive Negan (Walking Dead), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2018-10-13 08:20:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 81,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10509933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtle54/pseuds/Turtle54
Summary: Sam, a college student, learns that her father owes Negan a large sum of money.  What happens when Negan comes to collect and chooses to take Sam as reassurance to ensure that her father pays his debt?  Is Sam the one actually paying the debt?  *au*





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Chapters one and two have been edited for clarity and content. Thanks for reading and I hope that you enjoy the changes!

Past.

Something that not everyone is proud of.

Everyone has a past. There are the few lucky ones whose past is exactly that, history; never again to surface. Then again, the past can have a way of coming back and biting you in the butt. Or better yet, your past can affect the lives of those around you.

I never would have fathomed that the repercussions from my father's past would come knocking one day and forever change my life.

My name is Samantha Owens; Sam for short. Two weeks are left in my summer vacation from college, I'm preparing to start my sophomore year as a biology major at Terminus University. While home on break, I spent most of my time caring for my grandmother. She has stage four breast cancer and I serve as her caregiver whenever I'm available. However, today I am at home because she has an appointment at the local hospital, my uncle always drives her to her appointments.

Around noon, I hear a knock on my bedroom door.

"Hey Sam, come outside for a moment. There's someone who wants to meet you," my father wearily states. 

Something was off. He is very hesitant and I could sense a tinge of worry and uncertainty in his voice. Who would want to meet me that would cause this reaction from him? It's rare when someone comes to the house that I haven't previously met. But, I did not question him. I rose off my bed, where I had previously been reading, and proceed to follow him down the hallway towards our back door. We walk through the door and into the heavy heat that lingered outside. My eyes immediately land on the strangers.

"Well, look what we have here!" speaks an unknown gentleman. He is standing on the landing of our back porch. There was another strange man beside him. My father wordlessly walked over and stood next to the man.

This man is definitely a stranger. Standing near six foot five, wearing a leather jacket, red scarf, jeans, and combat boots. Not the type of clothes that people wear in our neck of the woods. A devilish smirk is plastered on his face that immediately gives me an uneasy feeling. That, along with the fact that my father will not look me in the eyes. His eyes were fixed on his feet in a submissive manner next to this towering stranger.

Could he be a former friend? Co-worker? The man appears to be near my father's age; his salt and pepper beard giving it away.

"Why don't you come over here so I can give a proper fucking introduction?" Although it was a question, it came across more as a command. I look towards my father for direction; he looked up quickly only to nod his head then returns his eyes to the ground. I cautiously make my way down the few steps towards the man.

"What's your name, dollface?" he asks as I now stand before him. He leans uncomfortably close to me as he awaits my answer.

"Umm… Sam," I stammer.

"I asked for you name, doll, not some fucking nickname. Now…. what's your name?" A dark glow appears in his eyes as he waits for the proper answer to his question.

"Samantha. M-m-my name is Samantha."

He slowly begins to lean down to my ear, invading my personal space. "Beautiful fucking name for a beautiful fucking girl," he whispers in my ear, making every hair stand on end. If his goal was to intimate, mission accomplished.

I stand frozen in place. I looked over at my father, waiting for any sort of direction but my dad remains still as if made of stone. The stranger continues to linger inches from my ear as if he is waiting to see if I will cave into his fear tactics. My heart continues to beat out of my chest as I attempt to avoid eye contact with him.  
Finally, he backs away and returns to his previous position next to my father. 

"You may not know who I am, but your father most definitely knows who I am! I'll fill in the gaps for you soon enough, sweetheart. I'm Negan. You better get real fucking familiar with that name because you're going to be hearing a lot of it."

I stare at him with a look of confusion and bewilderment at his statements. How does my father know this man? He doesn't seem like the kind of individual that my father would socialize with. What does he have to do with me?

"Oh shit," Negan says, "I almost spoiled the fucking surprise!"

Negan proceeds to saunter over to me and places an arm over my shoulder. My stomach churns as he makes contact with me as if we are long lost lovers. Again, my father refuses to acknowledge Negan's actions; it's as if he is frightened to speak against this man in any way. I have never in my life seen my father so submissive towards anyone else, let alone another man. His eyes wander between Negan, the strange man by his side, and the ground.

"Let's go inside and have us all a little chat, shall we? Your daddy and I have some catching up to do." He states with a maniacal grin. "Oh don't worry, sweetheart, I haven't forgotten about you. You're right in the middle of this as well."

With that, Negan ushers me into our home, with my father and the other strange man following close behind. His face now showed the true fear that he has been trying so hard to hide. I'm not sure what awaits once we get inside, but I have a feeling that it will be unpleasant. This feeling intensifies as I ponder why Negan seems to have taken a liking to me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Spitfire47


	2. Chapter 2

"Well isn't this a cozy fucking place!" Negan exclaims as we enter the living room. His arm is still plastered onto my shoulder. Any attempt to shrug it off or slip away from him is met with a piercing glare and a tighter squeeze on my shoulder.

"Come sit next to me, doll. Hell, you can even sit on my lap if ya want." 

Negan plops down on the sofa and brings me with him, his arm still strung around me. My cheeks instantly turn red in embarrassment at the thought of his proposition. I send a look towards my father, begging him to say something, anything to stop this. He continues to avoid eye contact with me. But I can tell that Negan's comments are taking a toll on him, each perverted jab towards me causes my father to fidget more in his seat. Negan is enjoying watching us all squirm.

The man who had accompanied Negan stands guard behind the couch where my father is seated. His arms are folded across his chest as he keeps a trained eye on my father for any sign of resistance.

Negan saw my discomfort of the man's intimidation aimed at my father. 

"Shit... I almost fucking forgot!" he exclaimed. "That's Dwight, one of my main lieutenants."

The man didn't acknowledge that he had being introduced.

"Enough small talk; let's get down to business," Negan said drawing our attention. "So, tell me Pete, how's life been treating you the past? What's it been? Fucking twenty-five odd years since we last crossed paths?" 

"We-we've been fine…. Making ends meet…I work as a mechanic…. But we're fine," my father shakily answers. His voice never rising above a whisper.

"Yeah, you appear to be doing fucking hunky dory here in the countryside. You're living the life! A fucking house, hot ass daughter, job, and money. Yeah… fucking money." Negan's voice deepens in seriousness with the end of his statement. "Money is an interesting thing; it can bring you both joy and despair depending on which end of the deal that you're on. Hell, sometimes it can bring both."

Although I don't have the slightest idea what direction Negan is heading with these statements, my father knows exactly what he is hinting at. Each word from Negan's lips pertaining to 'money' brings my father more and more visible distress. Soon, he begins sweating and hyperventilating.

"Money is –"

"Quit beating around the bush. What are you trying to say? Why the hell are you here?" I interrupt and give Negan a look of annoyance.

The wolfish grin that was previously on Negan's face is now replaced with a stone-cold stare that shakes me to the core. What was I thinking? Negan obviously means business and I just made the mistake of crossing him.

"Didn't your father teach you that it's fucking rude to interrupt someone when they are talking?" He scolds in a low, menacing tone. His fingernails painfully dig into my shoulder, further showing his disapproval of my outburst. "You seem to not realize the reason behind this whole shit show. I'm guessing your daddy hasn't revealed to you his past, because he hasn't always been Mr. Cookie Cutter Dad of the Year."

I attempt to turn away from his verbal thrashing. Negan only grabs my chin and forces me to face him. "Well listen up princess, because it's fucking story time."

"A long, long time before you came around, your ol' papa was a serious druggie. He used to only snort that country bumpkin shit that y'all have around here. He would get fucking high as a kite on that trash!"

This is not a surprise to me. My father had shared with me years ago about   
his struggle with drug addiction. He admitted his mistakes and showed me that he was a changed man.

"But after a while, that half-rate shit wasn't doing it anymore for your pops. He needed the good stuff, the fucking stuff that would knock you on your ass and have you seeing fucking unicorns and rainbows. Well, guess who supplied the best unicorn shit on this side of the US? Yours truly," Negan states in an arrogant tone, pointing towards himself.

"Oh, girl, your daddy was one of my best customers back in the day. He would meet with me every fucking week to get his fix. Ain't that right, Pete?" He scoffs towards my father.

My father hesitates to answer, causing Dwight to roughly shove him in his back. "Answer the damn question," he snarls.

"….yeah, you're right" he finally admits.

"But after a few months, ol' daddy was having trouble paying his weekly bill. He kept showing up and wanting more and more of my finest shit when he hadn't even paid for the last shitload of snuff. Me, being the kind-hearted man that I am," he says in a gentle tone," I cut your daddy some slack. It was tough times, shit happens. I get it. But… a man can only be but so patient. I warned your daddy the consequences of not paying his bill."

Negan releases his arm from around my shoulder and stands up. Slowly stalking towards my father until he is standing mere inches from my father's head hung in shame.

"When I went to collect what was owed to me," Negan begins. "I find out that this motherfucker had skipped town under my watch." He jabbed my father in the chest as he speaks every syllable. "I gotta admit, that took balls. But where are those balls now, hm? I searched high and low for years for this fucking piece of shit. No one, I mean no one steals from me!" He booms into my father's face.

My father appears as if he would crawl into a ball and disappear if he could. But there is no getting away from Negan.

"It was as if he had fallen off the face of the fucking Earth. That was until a few months ago. You see, one of my many foot soldiers ran into some car trouble. Low and behold, who came to his fucking rescue and fixed his wheels? Ol' ghost boy himself! 

‘You see, you obviously didn't recognize my man, but my man sure as hell recognized you! I couldn't fucking believe it when he came back and told me that Petey was still alive and kicking." Negan joyfully exclaims. "It wasn't hard to find you once we knew where to look.'

'So, here we are twenty-five years later. A lot has changed, but one thing for sure hasn't; you, my friend, still owe me a shit ton of money. And I expect you to pay back every…. single… penny. You're not getting away this time you little fucker."

Negan grabs my father by the collar and hauls him to his feet. I want so bad to intervene, but I know there is nothing that I can do to diffuse the situation.

"And just so you know that I'm fucking serious – ," Negan utters as he proceeds to knee my father in the stomach. My father hits his knees in agony. He has no time to recover as Negan rains down kick after kick onto his ribs. He is doing all that he can do curl into a ball in order to reduce the impacts.

I gave a shocked cry, lunging off the sofa towards Negan, but his man intercepts me before I can intervene. Dwight grabs my arms and twists them behind my back, holding me in place. I try my best to struggle out of the grip but his hold on me is too tight.

The brutal assault continues as Negan alternates from rib crunching kicks to humiliating slaps on my father. Blood began to pool on the floor from where Negan misplaces a few kicks and 'accidentally' strikes him in the face.

"Stop! Please, stop!" I scream in horror as Negan viciously continues his attack. 

"Shut the fuck up. Don't you dare try anything stupid," Dwight threatens. He painfully bends my arms even further behind my back.

Negan surprisingly ceases the assault upon hearing my pleas and cries.

"Shit, I got so overcome with rage about the stunt your idiotic dad pulled that I almost forgot about you," he says as he redirects his attention to me. "Since you remembered your fucking manners and said 'please,' I'll stop."

"Dwight," he motions toward his man, "lighten up a little." He instantly lessens the hold on my arms, but still not fully releasing me.

My father lays on the ground coughing up blood, wincing with every breath he takes.

"So…. This is how it's going to go down," Negan begins as he kneels next to my father's broken body, "You are going to make regular payments to me until your debt is paid in fucking full. I don't care if it takes you another twenty-five fucking years. I'm getting my money.'

'And just to make sure you don't pull another god dammed stunt like last time, I'm going to take a little insurance policy," he says as he glances in my direction (. A) sadistic grin forming on his face.

My blood runs cold as the meaning behind his words sink in.

"Y-you can't do that," I stutter, "You can't take me; I won't let you!" I nearly scream. Dwight painfully squeezes my wrists, implying that my little outburst was not appreciated.

"Honey, do you really think that you're in a position to tell me no?" he raises an eyebrow at me. "You see, how else am I supposed to trust that your dad won't run off again in an attempt to avoid paying up? I need a little reassurance. And it works for him too. I take you, and I'm reassured that your dad will pay up to ensure your safety. Your dad pays up and he's reassured that his little girl will come back in one piece, more or less." Negan smirks.

"Please…. Do-don't d-do this," my father wheezes.

"You really didn't think that you would get through this without being punished now did you?" Negan chuckles. "You stole my money, a whole damn lot of it. Far more than I'm fucking comfortable with and for that, you're going to pay. So now, I'm going to take your precious little angel with me. But don't you worry, I'll bring her back once you make your first payment. Only after that will we arrange a schedule of when her fine ass gets to have a little playdate with me." Negan says as he playfully smacks my father's cheek.

Negan rises to his feet as he makes his way towards me.

The devilish grin returns as he once again eases my chin to meet his piercing stare. "Pack a bag, sweetheart. You're going on a road trip."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Spitfire47


	3. Chapter 3

I feel as if I'm in a haze; I can only hear my heart pumping in my ears.

Thump-thump, thump-thump.

This can't be happening. I must be dreaming. That explains it, I'm dreaming.

Thump-thump, thump-thump.

Wake up, Sam, wake up!

Thump-thump, thump-thump.

"Hey! You in there?" Negan asks, tapping me on the head. "I said get up," Negan's stern voice pulls me back into reality.  
The realization of what is unfolding before my eyes is confirmed when I feel a rough hand forcibly grab me by my arm and bring me to my feet. Negan's patience with me is wearing thin.

Our house is small; 2 bedrooms, kitchen, living room, and a bathroom. First time guests have no problem getting through our home, even Negan. He easily drags me through the house until we reach a door decorated with various stickers and decals that I have accumulated throughout my childhood.

"How fucking adorable," he chimes in, opening my door and shoving me inside. "Just throw some shit in a bag and hurry up."

"How am I supposed to know how much to pack?" I question.

"That all depends on how motivated your ol' daddy-o is to make the first payment. I gotta feeling that he's going to be on his P's and Q's after the fucking message that I sent him today. You better hope he does, for your sake." Negan winks as he closes the door and leaves me to pack. "Five minutes!" he shouts through the door.

I stare into space as the sound of his heavy footsteps fade down the hallway. How can I get out of this? This man is a lunatic! I mean, he just waltzed into my home, victimized my father, and is now demanding that I leave with him as some 'reassurance?'   
I could refuse. Then again, he didn't hesitate to brutally beat up on my father and he wasn't exactly gentle with me either; what more is he capable of?

"Two minutes, doll!"

Shit. No time to think. I quickly grab my backpack and shove a few pair of pants, a couple t-shirts, socks, underwear, and a few feminine products inside. Scanning my room for anything else that I could possibly bring.

"You better be outside this door in the next thirty seconds or I'll yank your ass out of there myself," he threatens from the other side of the door.

"I'm coming,"

As I take one more glance around my room, I notice something on my nightstand – my pocket knife. Do I dare take it? Will I even get an opportunity to use it? I quickly grab it and stuff it underneath the couple of menstrual pads in my bag. Even if he searches my bag, he shouldn't think to dig too far below these.

I quickly get to my feet and near the door as I feel the seconds ticking away.

"Ready or not, here I co~," Negan sings as I open the door just as he's about to barge in.

"I'm ready," I mutter in a defeated tone.

"Splendid! Well, I better not keep you waiting, I know how impatient females can be," he leans down and murmurs in a sarcastic tone. "After you," he bows.

Out of my room, down the hallway, through the kitchen, and out the back door. I feel like an inmate on death row making their final walk before execution. I spot my father standing in the same position as he was when Negan first introduced himself at the bottom of the stairs. 

Blood stained his entire front. The open wounds on his face look painful, and one of his eyes was nearly swollen shut. His body was tilted at an odd angle indicating broken ribs and his hand was lain against his other wounds limply. 

Next to my father was Dwight. His eyes were on my father and his body was tense as if ready to pounce. This all was despite my father being able to much less stand!

Just as I'm about to embrace my father in an emotional hug, Negan grabs me by the back of my shirt, preventing me from doing so.

"That's a no-no. You can get all the fucking hugs that you want after I get my first payment," Negan sneers at my father. "You know the arrangement, Petey–Weety. When you have the cash, call that number that I gave you and we'll arrange a meet. And if you try and pull a fast one on me and fucking short change me, well, let's just say that it won't fare well for your beautiful little girl,"

"I'll comply. I'll do everything that you request. Ju-just please, don't hurt her," my father tearfully pleads.

"You just focus on what the fuck you have to do and don't worry about shit that doesn't pertain to you. Like I said, you have no fucking say on anything with this situation. Now, stand up straight, look me square in my god damn eyes, and thank me for being so fucking considerate and understanding," he says in a cynical tone.

My father was in clear pain as he swallows his pride, raises his head, and thanks Negan.

"Well it was my fucking pleasure. Alright let's hit the road!" Negan gleams as he herds me toward the back door. Dwight followed silently, shouldering past my father. 

Outside, I reluctantly walk to the old, rusty truck and climb into the passenger seat as Negan walks around to the driver's side. Dwight gets into the back passenger right behind me, making me feel like I was being boxed in.

"Chin up, buttercup. It's not gonna be that bad. It's going to be a long ride. If you get lonely over there, my offer still stands from earlier, my lap is always open," Negan grins, tapping his lap.

I stare out of the window as we ease away from the house. My eyes meet those of my father. A look of pure desperation and dread plastered on my face. His expression shows the remorse and guilt that he feels. But one look sends a chill down my spine, the look of pure terror in his eyes, as if he knows what waits for me with Negan.

Dear God, what's going to happen to me? My soul has just been sold to the devil himself. And now, we're bound for hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Spitfire47


	4. Chapter 4

"We're on easy street, and it feels so sweet. 'Cause the world is 'bout a treat when you're on easy street ~," Negan gleefully sings, tapping the rhythm on the steering wheel.

We've been on the road for about an hour. I clung to my bag tightly as I tried my best to remember every turn and exit as we snaked down backroads and interstates. I've refused to utter a single syllable to him or Dwight, spending my time glaring out of the windshield from my cornered in spot between my two captors. The two would make the occasional side-glance exchange. Negan hasn't tried to say much either besides the occasional road rage filled comment whenever someone pissed him off, along with the same repeated question.

"Recognize the scenery?" he first asked about twenty minutes into the trip.

"Uh huh." We weren't too far outside of my hometown.

"Still know where we are?" he asked twenty minutes later.

"Mhm."

Truthfully, I barely recognized where we were. I knew that I had traveled through this part of the state, but I couldn't give you an exact location if you asked. What's with the questions anyway? If this was his idea of small talk, he was miserable at it.

"What about now?" he asks again in an impatient manner.

"No, I don't recognize anything at all," I mumble.

We are on a gravel road in the middle of the woods. I haven't seen another car in miles. Maybe a stray sign here or there letting you know which one-stoplight towns were near, none of which are recognizable to me.

Suddenly, Negan pulls the truck over to the shoulder of the road and puts it in park. Getting out, he struts to the bed of the truck. I looked behind to see Dwight stare me down with a warning glance, implying to not get any ideas about a possible escape. I can hear him rustling through the junk in the back, he appears to be looking for something. An enormous grin sweeps across his face, he must've found what he was searching for.

He saunters over to the passenger side door, opening it with flourish causing the door to bounce on it's hinges. "Alright, darlin, this can go one of two ways, both have the same result. It's just the matter of how it goes down. We're still a few hours away from my humble abode and I can't have you knowing its exact location, just in case you're as fucking shady as your father. You may wanna try and pull one on me," he explains.

It's then that I notice what is in his hands; zip ties and a bandanna.

"Normally, I can get back in half the time that it's taken us, but you're fucking smart, and I have a feeling that you would've known the entire way there. So instead, I sent us on a little adventure," he shifts his weight in amusement. "I unfortunately must cover those pretty little eyes of yours, don't wanna give away any secrets," he whispers.

"Th-the zip t-ties?" I frighteningly ask. The blindfold was the least of my worries.

"Oh, it wouldn't make sense to only blindfold you. How can I trust that you won't try to sneak a peak? You can't peak if you can't more you arms," he winks. "So, as I was saying, you can make this easy. I'll throw this blindfold on you and quickly snap these on, no harm and no foul," he raises his hands, backing away from me. Suddenly his face turned dark and emotionless. "Or, you can make a fuss and I'll be forced to stomp your ass worse than I did your father. It'll still end with your fucking eyes covered and your arms behind your fucking back," he growled, face now level with mine.

I don't need any time to contemplate my decision. Those are not empty threats and I want no part in testing the truthfulness behind them.

I set my bag on the ground, before gingerly lower myself out of the truck. I turn with my back to Negan, and place my hands behind my back in a defeated manner.

"Good girl," he mockingly praises me.

My skin crawls as I feel him grab my wrist and attach the zip ties. Even though he said it would go smoothly if I cooperated, he snaps the zip ties tightly with the plastic now digging into my flesh. He spins me around and proceeds to blindfold me.

"Lights out, baby girl," he says as he knots the blindfold and places me back in my seat. Dwight helped guide me into the seat. I make sure that my bag is between my feet.

I've never felt so vulnerable in my life than this very moment. Negan strives to exude mental and emotional control over people, but now he has physical control, something that I am not comfortable with. I re-adjust in the seat as I feel the truck take off once again. 

Even without my sense of sight, I still try to distinguish between the various right and left turns that we make with hope that I may be able to retrace our path. This tactic quickly falters since there is no way that I can reference the distance traveled between each turn; what point is it to remember taking a left turn when I have no idea which left turn to make? I have no way of using landmarks of any kind to aid me.

"Can you at least tell me where we're going?" I request, breaking the hours of silence.

"Oh shit, she speaks. I thought you had gone fucking mute on me," he jokes. "We're heading to the Sanctuary, my Sanctuary.

"So you gave up the high roller drug life to become a preacher?"

"Excuse my God dam French, but do you actually believe that my ass would ever be a fucking holy man with the shitload of stuff that I do? Jesus fucking Christ." He retorts, exuding a snicker from Dwight.

Message sent.

"Darling, I'm kind of a big deal," he boasts. "Did you not pay attention during story time? The Sanctuary is command central for the creation, manufacturing, and distribution of the best unicorn / rainbow shit on this side of the US! It's a way of life."

Although I can't see his face, I can imagine the egotistical smile affixed on it.

"Where the hell did you get that name from?"

"Language, darlin'," he warns. "The name came from our loyal customers. My crew and I are known as the Saviors. Poor bastards would get so fucked up on our shit that they'd be seeing ol' Jesus himself. Started calling us their saviors, the name stuck. Then we were like 'Well, if we're the god damn Saviors, we need us a fucking Sanctuary! End of story."

He is so full of it. Saviors? Really?

"But why are you taking me to your drug lab?"

"I fucking live there," he states matter-of-fact. "Shit, I was spending almost every waking moment there anyway so I figured that I might as well make it my new home. I guess it's your home now too, ain't that right, doll?" 

I fight back the urge to hurl at the thought of calling any place with Negan, my 'home.'

"Speaking of the fucking devil, we're here!" Negan declares, his voice oozing with enthusiasm. 

I lurch forward in the seat as I feel the truck come to a stop. I'm so preoccupied with the thought of having reached our destination that I fail to notice Negan and Dwight get out of the truck. It isn't until I'm brutally yanked from my seat that I am once again snapped back into the real world.

My feet hit gravel as Dwight steadies me with a hand on my bound wrists and shoulder. He unknots the bandanna and I'm immediately blinded by lights. I squeeze my eyes shut at the sudden intrusion. I know that it should be well into the night by now after all the time that we spent on the road; where the hell was all this light coming from?

My vision slowly returns as I get accustomed to the brightness. It's then that I'm able to get a good look around my surroundings. We appear to be in the middle of the woods, surrounded by ten foot high chain linked fences adorned with barbed wire. Large spot lights are spaced at regular intervals along the fence. It isn't until I turn around that I see what must be the Sanctuary. 

An enormous, weathered, brick warehouse. It stood three stories tall with windows lining the walls from nearly top to bottom. Some of which were boarded up from where they had been broken, while others sported ugly cracks. From the looks of it, it was possibly a beautiful place before. Now the bricks were stained and chipped, and the tips of metal beams from the buildings frame even showed in the most damaged places.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Negan says, stepping from behind the truck, wiping a fake tear from his eye. "Home sweet home!"

I hear footsteps approaching and turn to see a man nearing us. He has curly gray hair and a thick moustache.

"Well, hello there," 'stache man directs towards me, flashing a toothy smile. "I didn't realize you were bringing back a guest, I would've cleaned the place up a bit," he says pointing back to the warehouse.

"I know it wasn't the original plan, but ghost boy was a little hesitant to pay his fucking bill. I had to shut that shit down. What better way to show him that I meant what I fucking said then taking a little present for myself?" Negan places a heavy hand on my shoulder.

My eyes fall to the ground as I feel Negan staring at me. This bastard was truly proud of what he had done today. I had an urge to shrug it off, but forced myself to remain knowing the consequences. His hand remains on me as he continues his conversation with the man.

"Any trouble while I've been gone?"

"Not a peep all night."

"Fan – fucking – tastic! That's exactly what I wanted to hear." Negan happily smacks my shoulder a little too hard in response.

"Do you get unexpected visitors often?" I muster, eyes still on the ground. I was very curious. I mean, if I'm going to be staying in this hell-hole, I at least want it to be a safe hell-hole.

"Comes with the territory. There's always a dumb fuck with beach ball sized balls who wants to try to take our shit. Hell, I want someone to try to step up to me; their ass will meet Lucille. That sends a direct message to every other cocky shit who wants to try anything. I'll send someone a bashed-up skull in a heartbeat. We've made several special deliveries over the years. Lucille gets fed on a regular basis," Negan sinisterly chuckles.

A puzzled look spreads across my face at Negan's mentioning of 'Lucille.' He seemed to have read my mind. "Oh, you'll meet her soon enough. Speaking of Lucille, I believe my dirty girl here still needs a good cleaning after our most recent festivities. Simon, take umm- uh, shit, what's your name again, doll?" Negan asks, placing a hand on his head while trying to think. 

"Samantha," I say, making sure to give the full name after what happened earlier. 

"Yeah, I knew that. Take Samantha on a grand tour of the place. Bring her to my quarters afterwards. Dwight, you can head home. Good work today," Negan begins strutting towards the warehouse with my pack in hand. "I almost fucking forgot, zip ties stay on! Still don't trust the little shit yet!" Negan yells as he's walking away.

Dammit. I was hoping to get out of these things. The slightest movement of my wrists causes the plastic to bite further into my skin. It's sure to leave some hellacious marks once they're finally removed. 

I am grateful that Negan has left, though. This guy seems a lot less harsh than Negan and Dwight. Maybe I can get on his good side, maybe even get some information out of him.

"Alright, princess, my name is Simon and I will be your tour guide today. Let's get this show on the road," Simon says in an exaggerated manner. He grabs my arm and begins to lead me around the warehouse. "To your right, we have a fence. And over there, is the same fence...." Thanks, captain obvious; I never would have noticed that. 

As we turn towards the rear of the warehouse, I spot several large box trucks. 

"This is the loading area. The trucks get backed up to the big ass doors and shit gets loaded inside." 

I'm trying my best to scan the area for any possible weak points to aid an escape, but no luck. The fence is pristine, there is no way that I could possibly get to the box trucks unnoticed, and there is nothing that I could use to climb over the fence. I'm trapped.

I must've zoned out while contemplating my next move because I'm suddenly aware of Simon lightly shaking me to get my attention. "Hey, pay attention. I see what you're doing; you think I'm stupid?" he says in a low tone.

"N-no, I wasn't –"

"Listen here, Negan has you here for a reason. Now, he's not going to be too happy if his new pet decides to run away. Cause you bet your ass that he will find you, and you do not want to get on his bad side. It'll be the last thing you ever fucking do." Simon has now grabbed me by my collar and is glaring me dead in the eyes. I keep my eyes fixed on him, too terrified to look away. Tense seconds tick away until he releases me just as quickly as he had grabbed me. 

"Well, back to the tour!" He cheerfully grins and pulls me along as if that heated exchange never happened.

He leads me inside of the warehouse. It's even more spacious than it looked from the outside. The space appears to be sectioned in half with makeshift walls forming the dividers. The walls looked only about seven feet tall, so the room still feels very much open with its ten foot tall ceilings. Rows and rows of tables were lined throughout the entire first half of the room. Several boxes were stacked on each table. 

"This is the packaging floor. I'm sure you can guess what we do in this area?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. Seriously, Simon? 

I shrug my shoulders and answer, "you package stuff." 

"Ding, Ding, Ding! We have a winner!" He shouts.

"How many people work for Negan?"

"Oh shit…. A few hundred, including the runners. We are a large-scale operation. We practically have men in every state that either work for us or buy from us."

Out of all the drug dealers in this world, my father had to go and mix up with the freaking Donald Trump of crack, or meth, or whatever it was that they did here. This explains Negan's arrogance and ego; he is practically ruling an empire.

Simon showed me a few rooms off from the main packaging room. Bathroom, closet, and a room with sofas, chairs, and a TV. 

"Keeping the morale up keeps productivity up," he explains.

I realize that he has shown me nearly every room and we have yet to stumble across a bedroom of any kind. "Wait, where does Negan stay?"

"The majority of the upstairs is his domain. I have a room up there too; my ass stays whenever Negan has to make a run." That explains why Simon was here when we arrived.

Simon glances at his watch. "Shit, we're going to have to cut this tour short. I better get you up to Negan ASAP. He can be an impatient man at times."

That wasn't nearly enough time to feel Simon out, I'll have to pray that I get another opportunity alone with him. He's my only hope right now. Simon leads me to a staircase off the 'packaging' room and we begin to ascend the stairs. 

I attempt to calm my breathing and assert any ounce of confidence - now is not the time to be weak. I need to show Negan that I am not going to allow him to walk all over me as my father allowed him to. I did what he wanted, I came with him. But I am not bowing down to this evil son of a bitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Spitfire47.


	5. Chapter 5

My mental pep talk is cut short as Simon knocks on one of the two wooden doors at the top of the stairs. I look at the plain door in front of me. My heart races as my breath hitches in my breast having heard heavy footsteps on the other side. 

"Come on in, darlin'," Negan says as he opens the door, replacing Simon's hold on me as he steers me towards a sofa on the opposite end of the room. Simon wasn't lying when he said that most of the upstairs was Negan's. He practically has an apartment on this floor with an open concept layout. 

There's a living area with a sofa, arm chair, TV, and fireplace. I glimpse at the kitchen off to the side of the living room with large appliances and a granite island. Cherry hardwood floors appear to cover the entire apartment. I spot something leaning against the wall near the door that we just entered. A barbed wire baseball bat? Could that be…?

"What'd you think of the place?" Negan asked grinning widely as if he already knew the answer.

"It's impressive," I finally answer, taking a seat on the sofa. That's a truthful statement, I'm in awe of the space. If I'm being honest with myself, I would consider this a dream apartment. I guess that goes to show what you can afford when you're a successful dealer.

"You can go now Simon, I got it from here. We have some shit to go over. Today was a productive damn day and you deserve some good fucking shut eye." Simon doesn't argue with that one. He's quick to nod in thanks towards Negan and heads towards the door. 

"See you in the morning, princess. Enjoy your first night!" His voice trails off as he closes the door.

I sit in silence as Negan's trademark smirk reappears. "Where are my fucking manners? You thirsty?" he asks as he strolls into the kitchen and starts pouring himself a shot of whisky. 

I'm not much of a drinker even though I'm in college; it's never been my thing. 

"No thanks," I reply.

"Suit yourself, more for me," Negan says as he downs another shot. He places the glass on the counter and moves to come sit across from me in the armchair. "Jesus fucking Christ, I'm tired," he says as he plops down in the chair. "Driving for hours and beating the shit out of your old man really did a fucking number on me," he teases. 

I want to immediately stiffen as flashbacks of earlier creep into my mind. No, stay strong. I can't cave in now. I give Negan an angry look in response to his comment.

"Did I pluck a nerve, sweetheart?"

"I'm going to ask you again, what do you want?" I sneer at him. The sudden boost of bravery egging me on.

Negan is visibly surprised by my brash confidence. "Looks like someone has more balls then their daddy. I can dig that, but don't fucking push it too far. That shit is already getting old," Negan says sternly. He leans forward with his elbows now resting on his knees, his face just a few feet from mine. "It's late, so I'm going to make this quick and give you a short rundown of how this is going to go.'

'You will stay here, in my apartment, until your dad makes the first payment. I don't care how fucking long it takes. You will not venture down onto the production floor; I don't need my men getting any ideas or trying to fuck what's mine," he says in a possessive tone.

Mine?

"What the hell do you mean by 'mine'? You don't own me."

"See, that's where you're mistaken," Negan says, pointing at me, "I do, in fact, own your sweet fucking ass. And I will continue to own said ass until your father pays me back all my fucking money that he owes me. You will do whatever I say, when I say it. I tell you to jump, you say 'how high?' Understand?"

"This is bullshit!" I roar in his face, rising off the sofa. "I didn't ask to be brought here by some fucking arrogant, piece of shit. I'm not 'princess' or 'doll' and I am certainly not your fucking pet!"

Negan's smile slowly disappears from his face; his jaw tightens as he lets out a slow, fuming breath. I can see the rage burning in his eyes. I have no time to react as he wraps his hands around my throat, squeezing off my air supply. 

"I tried to be nice, I tried to be fucking patient. But I see that you're just as god damn stubborn as your prick of a father. Now, I don't believe in laying hands on a woman, but you are just so content on pushing my fucking buttons. I think someone needs to be knocked down a few pegs."

"Y-you s-said you wouldn't h-hurt m-me," I wheeze using the bit of air I have left in my lungs.

"You forced my hand, princess. This is on you."

I begin to feel dizzy due to the lack of oxygen as Negan tightens his grip on my neck. My attempts to struggle out of his grasp are in vain with having my arms still secured behind my back, preventing me from getting any leverage. Dark splotches dance around my vision as I feel myself slipping away. This is it. This lunatic is going to kill me.

Negan suddenly releases me and I collapse onto the floor, struggling to refill my empty lungs. He towers over me, chuckling at the sight. 

He grabs me by my hair and proceeds to drag me towards the door. I attempt to regain my balance but he only shoves my head to the floor and continues to drag me like a dog. Holding onto me with one hand, he reaches over and scoops up the bat that I was eyeing moments before, as he passes through the exit. 

My scalp, neck and tailbone are soon in excruciating pain as I'm mercilessly hauled down the stairs. Negan's refusal to slow his pace only causes more harm.

He finally unceremoniously drops me into a heap on the gravel covered dirt outside of the warehouse. I land awkwardly on my right shoulder, causing a stabbing pain to radiate through it. Negan circles me like a wolf circling its prey, swinging the barbed weapon from one hand to another.

"On your knees," he orders. 

My bound wrists and now injured shoulder prevent me from being able move from the prone position that I was dumped in. I try propping up on my good shoulder and using my forward momentum to sit up, but to no avail. Negan grows impatient with my pathetic attempts. He stomps over to me, grabs me by my bruising shoulder, and yanks me to my knees. I yelp in pain as his grip lingers on my shoulder even after I've assumed the position.

Negan waits for a few beats before he resumes circling around me while whistling a haunting tune. My head stays bowed, terrified to meet his intimidating stare. I shiver in fear as I see his black combat boots halt in front of me. The cocky confidence that I had displayed in his apartment was long gone by this point.

"Look at me." 

My brain tells me to obey his command, but my body is frozen in fear. Negan takes the sharp end of the bat and situates it under my chin, forcing my head up to meet his burning glare. I feel warm drops of blood descend my neck as he pulls the bat away.

"I didn't want tonight to go this way. I figured I'd show you around, we would go over a few fucking rules, and we would have a merry fucking time. But you wanted to come at me all cocked and guns a blazing. Let me tell you something, sweetheart, you want to act like a badass? Fine! I'll treat you like a fucking badass!" he says swinging the bat inches from my face.

"This, this is Lucille," he says, squatting in front of me, displaying his weapon of choice, "and she is fucking awesome. You see, Lucille is very particular. She's not too fond of folks who don't know their fucking place. In fact, I don't think she likes that look that you're giving her right now .... Well, I'll be dammed, looks like someone still has a little fight left in her. Don't worry, Lucille will shut that shit down real quick," he utters in a menacing tone as he returns to his feet.

My heart is beating out of my chest as Negan continues to swing Lucille dangerously close to me. Any attempt to lean away from her prickly surface results in a swift kick from Negan. 

"Did I tell you to move?" 

I cannot hold my composure any longer as tears begin to stream down my cheeks. I try my best to keep still, but I involuntarily flinch as Lucille makes another pass by my head. Once again, Negan's boot connects, this time to my ribs. I double over face first into the dirt in pain, dirt stuck to my tear soaked face.

"Where are those big lady balls now, huh?" he mockingly sneers. "Back up you go," he says as he grabs me by my hair and forces me back onto my knees. I can't take it anymore. Everything hurts, I'm petrified for my life. 

"I'm sorry, I understand now. I'll listen, I promise," I sob, pleading for my life. 

Negan laughs at my worthless attempt of an apology. "Oh I believe you, but it's Lucille who needs convincing, I don't think she buys the whole 'boo hoo' act. I've got an idea. Lucille will give you a choice; either you let her take a swing at you or she'll go pay daddy a little visit. I think then she will believe that you're fucking sorry!"

I can't make a decision knowing that both options will probably lead to the deaths of my father and I. What's to say that Negan won't go and kill my dad after I choose to take a hit myself? Or vice versa? It's a lose – lose situation either way.

"Not making a decision is a big fucking decision," Negan roars. "Suit your-fucking-self !" 

Negan roughly pushes me face first into the gravel, placing a heavy boot on the small of my back, holding me in place. I begin to shake as I turn my head and see him begin to raise Lucille above his shoulders. 

"I'm sorry that it had to end like this, darlin, but Lucille is thirsty for blood and you've left me no other choice." 

"Please! Please! Don't do this! I'm sorry! I won't defy you again. I know my place! I'll be good –," I sob into the ground, absolutely begging for mercy. 

I close my eyes as I see Lucille swing down. Wham! - landing just inches from my skull. Negan removes his boot from my whimpering, shaking body and kneels in front me, he grabs my chin so that my eyes meet his. I'm nearly hyperventilating, I can't calm myself. 

"You answer to me. You provide for me. You belong to me. Speak when you're spoken to!" Negan commands, tightening his grip on my jaw. I try to speak but I couldn't find my voice. Negan's glare tells me to find it fucking quick.

"You answer to me!"

"I a-answer to y-you."

"You provide for me!"

"I p-pr-provide for you."

"You belong to me!"

"I-I belong t-to you," I tearfully acknowledge, accepting the facts. Tears and snot roll down my face as I whimper in absolute fear towards Negan.

"Now that is the look that I wanted to see." He was right. He successfully extinguished the flame that had previously burned in my eyes. I was broken and defeated. "Was that so hard?" he grins.

"Let's get you cleaned up, can't have you tracking all this dirt and shit into my apartment," he says as he pulls me to my feet, significantly gentler than before. 

I pause and wait for directions before making any moves, afraid to have to endure hell again. He snickers in delight at the sight of my submission as he places a hand on my healthy shoulder and ushers me back towards the warehouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Spitfire47.


	6. Chapter 6

Every step that I make sends a piercing pain through my injured side. Negan and I neared the stairs that lead to his domain. I attempt to walk up the first stair but I imminently crumble to the floor in pain. The damage to my ribs aggravated from the effort needed to ascend the stairs. I clutch my side in agony at the bottom of the stairs.

"Jesus Christ, I don't have time for this shit. It'll take you a fucking century to drag your ass to the top."

Negan places Lucille through his belt loop and scoops me bridal-style into his arms, careful not to put any strain on my bruised shoulder and ribs. I began to flinch away from his touch until I sense his tenderness, he's actually trying not to harm me for a change.

"Easy there, doll," he gently coos.

My head rests against his chest as he climbs the stairs toward his apartment. Internally, I am protesting the entire exchange. Externally, I am too tired and broken to put up a fight.

My mind wanders as he climbs the stairs. I'm grateful that Negan had previously sent Simon and Dwight home. They would have, without a doubt, heard my pleads and screams outside, and I highly doubt that they would have intervened. Hell, they probably would've helped….

Negan carries me past the living room where our heated exchange began, down a short hallway, and enters a large bedroom. 

A quick glance around the room revealed a four-poster king sized bed, a massive dresser, and a small siting area with two armchairs. He bumps his hip against a door, opening it to reveal a bathroom.

"Clean yourself up, you smell like piss and you look fucking shitty," Negan orders as he sets me on my feet, the previous tenderness now gone.

I'm momentarily left alone as he slips out of the bathroom and quickly returns carrying a towel and washcloth, tossing them in my direction. It's when I try to awkwardly block the linens coming at me, that he remembers that my arms are still bound by the zip ties.

He whips out a massive, serrated hunting knife from his back pocket, pressing the tip of the blade to my throat.

"I shouldn't have to warn you not to try any shit after my performance just now, but I wouldn't mind dragging your ass outside for an encore," he says, applying pressure to the blade.

I remain statue still, tears beginning to fall down my face at the thought of having to endure another second of torture outside with Negan and Lucille.

"Good fucking choice."

He reaches around and slides the blade between my wrist and the plastic, severing the zip ties in half. I immediately bring my wrists forward and rub them in an attempt to regain feeling in them. Rising to his feet, Negan re-sheaths the knife and begins to leave the room.

"Can I have my backpack, please? I have a change of clothes in my bag." I try my best to keep my voice level as I make my request, trying not to hint at what is actually hidden inside.

"Since you asked so fucking nicely –," he says as he steps out of the room, quickly returning with my bag. "You have ten minutes, not a fucking second more." He drops my bag on the tile floor and slams the door shut.

Scooping my bag off the floor, I limp towards the full-length mirror near the shower. I finally have the chance to get a good look at myself after the events that have transpired in the past twenty-four hours. Blue and purple bruises in the shape of Negan's hands have developed on my neck and there are many small scrapes on my cheeks from being thrown onto the gravel, dried blood litters my face from the deeper scratches.

I grab the hem of my tattered shirt and struggle to raise it above my head, the movements cause a sharp pain to shoot down my injured right shoulder. Hot tears stream down my face as I finally manage to wiggle the shirt off, tossing it to the side. 

With my shirt now removed, I can grasp the full extent of my injuries. Ugly dark bruises adorn my ribs on both sides. Negan was consistent to inflict equal brutality to both sets of ribs. Various contusions and scrapes riddle my arms, legs, and stomach. I peer down at my wrists and see that the zip ties bit through my top layer of skin, dried blood and dirt caked in the wounds.

Shit. I haven't even been in Negan's possession one whole day and I'm already mangled and torn.

Boom, boom, boom.

"I don't hear any fucking water running," Negan says while banging on the door. "Do I need to come in there and assist?"

"No," I hurriedly answer. "I-I'm getting in n-now."

I reach over into the shower and quickly turn on the water. My remaining soiled garments are quickly removed as I enter the shower. Hot streams of water beat down on my injured body, eliciting a feeling of relief. This was the first time I've been able to relax since Negan arrived.

I stand under the steady stream, letting the hot water massage my bruised muscles. Time escapes me as I hear, "Tick-tock, doll. 4 minutes."

A sigh escapes my lips as I reluctantly reach for the nearby washcloth; I would give anything to get a few more precious minutes under the healing flow of the hot water. I find that my only option for soap is Negan's high dollar body wash, I've only ever seen this brand in the ritziest department stores. As delightful as the liquid smells, it disgust me that I will now share the same musk as my bat wielding captor.

A hiss leaves my lips as the washcloth gently traces over my ribs, sending a stabbing pain through my entire side. The same sensation returns as I attempt to raise my arms over my head in order to wash my hair, extending my ribs in the process. The pain is enough for me to settle with rinsing my hair to avoid more straining.

Shutting off the water, I wrap myself in the towel that Negan gave me and make my way towards my backpack. A wince slips out as I kneel down and pull out the oversized t-shirt and basketball shorts that I brought to sleep in. I begin to slowly put the garments on to reduce any pain from my injuries. My knife is still tucked away in its original hiding spot. 

I flick it open and lightly brush my thumb over the blade, feeling its sharp edge faintly nip at my skin. As much as I want to stab that bastard in the throat, I know this is not the right time. Negan is a very calculated individual and it will take more than a rage filled flurry to put him down. 

Patience is my best option for now until I am able to come up with a better plan. I place my knife back in my bag, making sure to properly stuff it into the wrapper of one of the menstrual pads. Negan would have to physical pick up the pad to reveal the prize that is inside.

My time must nearly be up by now. I quickly zip up my backpack and ease the door open, tip-toeing into Negan's room. He is nowhere to be seen. The only noticeable difference is a small, makeshift pallet made of blankets and a pillow now situated next to the massive bed.

Things could be worse; I'm surprised that he's even allotted me a pillow. I place my backpack underneath my pillow and proceed to sit down on my 'bed', waiting for his inevitable return. 

Moments later, the sound of footsteps nearing the bedroom immediately get my attention.

"I'll be dammed. You showered when I told you to, found your bed, and sat like a good fucking girl until I returned! I wouldn't have had to lay down the fucking law if you'd been this cooperative from the jump, darlin'." Negan smirks as he strolls in carrying a medium sized box, its contents unknown. He's changed out of his leather and black, now clad in baggy gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt.

Negan sets the contents down on the dresser next to one of the armchairs.

"Come here."

I hesitate in fear as my mind is trying to plan ahead, processing a response to any possible attack.

"Don't make me fucking say it again," he snarls.

I gently climb to my feet and sulk towards the dresser that he is now leaning against. Negan motions for me to have a seat; I quickly oblige. He kneels in front of me, opens the box revealing a first aid kit, and begins pulling out antiseptic and bandages. After removing the necessary supplies, Negan reaches for my right wrist, examining the wounds.

"Jesus fucking Christ. You're really torn up!" he exclaims as he notices how deep the zip ties cut. "I can't have you getting infected and dying of some fucking bacterial infection or shit. That kind of ruins the deal between your pops and I."

He reaches for the antiseptic and begins to spread the gel onto my gashes. I reflexively attempt to pull away from him as my open wounds burn in agony from the gel.

"Hold fucking still, Summer."

"I'm trying. I'm sorry, it really hurts. And my name is Samantha!" I say through clenched teeth.

"Just hold still, I'm almost finished."

I try to regain my composure as Negan continues to apply the antiseptic over my wrist, followed by wrapping it with a bandage then gauze. The pain soon dulls as the medication's pain relieving affects kick in. Negan releases my wrist and begins the same routine on the other one. His fingers were gentle around my damaged wrists, it was hard to believe that they were the same that had dragged me around by my hair.

His gentleness takes me aback; it is such a contradiction to what I witnessed hours before. It is impossible to read this man. One minute he's threatening to drop you where you stand, and the next he is nursing you back to health.

Negan appears to pick up on the perplexed expression that has been affixed on my face.

"Listen, I am a man who demands respect from those around me and that means rules are involved. I get it princess, rules sometimes blow, but I'll do whatever it fucking takes to get that respect. Even if it means using Lucille to help sway their decisions.'

'Many underneath me know this and respect me for it, but it's not just about Lucille – oh no. I gotta take some fucking credit. I mean, look around you princess – look at what I've got! But I've also delivered, I've given back to the men and allowed them some pleasures of their own. To put it simply sweetheart, if you do as your fucking told, you get the Negan before you right now. Either way, my people will fucking respect me,' Negan pauses. His welcoming expression changed suddenly, sending a dark glare in my direction. 

'Which leads me to you, sweetheart. You disrespected me, so I knocked your ass down a few pegs. If you continue to push my fucking buttons, you're going to wish that I had let Lucille smash your pretty little brains in. So, when I tell you to do something, you fucking do it."

I whimper upon hearing his words. It was plainly said so that I would understand; I did. While it was my choice, whether or not to respect Negan, it was clear that if I wanted to survive in the Sanctuary I had to give respect, even if I felt like Negan didn't deserve it.

"You understand?"

"Y-yes."

"Yes, what?" he pressures.

"Y-y-es s-sir! Y-yes sir!" I stammer between sobs.

Negan went back to gently laying down ointment for my wounds at the sound of the magic words. "Now, that wasn't so hard was it? Someone learns fucking fast!" He finishes dressing my bandages with a satisfied grin.

"Get your ass up and get in bed," he orders as he gets up to place the first aid kit back in its original location. "Be right back, gotta surprise for ya!"

This time, I am quick to comply, scurrying over to my 'bed' and taking a seat. 

Minutes later, Negan returns, his arms hiding something behind his back. 

He struts over and stands before the bed. The anticipation is building as he continues to toy with my emotions.

"Surprise!" he yells as he reveals a dog collar and a length of chain. My stomach drops when I see the objects, along with the sadistic smirk on his face.

"Since your wrists are all fucked up, I can't quite tie you up that way, had to get real fucking creative. I figured this would be the next best thing!" he says, showing the leather collar. "It would be awfully terrible if you decided to try a shitty move and escape in the middle of the night, now wouldn't it? Can't have that happening! Like I said earlier, I don't trust you, especially after your ballsy stunt earlier."

Negan is near giddy in excitement as he proceeds to unhook the collar.

"Come here."

Remembering his previous threats, I accept my fate, swallow my pride, and rise to accept my fate. I feel the cool leather against my flesh as he snaps the collar in place, just tight enough for him to fit two fingers between the leather and my throat. 

I feel an added weight as he attaches one end of the chain to the collar, making sure to properly secure the other end to one of the posters of his bed.

I've never felt more degraded in my life.

"Hot diggity dog! Looks fan-fucking-tastic! You like it? Picked it out myself," he winks.

Tears trickle down my face as I stand humiliated before him. Pleased with his handy work, Negan pats me on the head and motions for me to sit back down, causing the weight of the chain to throw me off kilter.

"Now aren't you the cutest little pup that I've ever seen!" he belittles. "That has a nice ring to it…. Fuck yeah, it does! My little pup…. Damn, looks like my new pet finally has a name! It's not like I could ever remember your other fucking name anyway."

I curl into the fetal position on my makeshift bed, tugging the blanket up to hide my tear soaked face. 

The collar and chain keep my head twisted at an awkward angle. It's going to be impossible to get any rest with this contraption on, unless I was right up against the frame of the bed. At this point, I don't care. He's stripped away my freedom, dignity, and now my own name.

After checking my restraints one more time, Negan climbs into bed and reaches over to pet my head before turning out the light.

"G'night pup. The fun begins all over again in the morning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Spitfire47.
> 
> I hope that you guys enjoyed the update! The next upload may be a few days later because of my busy schedule. Please be patient with me; the new material is coming!


	7. Chapter 7

I can't sleep. I've been lying here, staring at the ceiling for what has felt like hours. The room is nearly dark except for the little bit of light peaking through the blinds from the spotlights. The only sound is Negan's slow, rhythmic breathing. Occasionally, he will stir in his sleep, causing me to hold my breath as I wait to hear his breathing steady again as he drifts back to sleep. I want to reposition myself but the chain noisily clinks together every time that I move, and that last thing that I want to do is wake the sleeping giant that is a mere few feet away from me.

My mind wanders to my father and of how he got us both into this hopeless situation. I can't help but feel anger rising within me. He always taught me to face my problems head on, no matter the circumstances. He couldn't even follow his own advice…. Hell, all he could do was stand there like a coward when his 'problem' was starring him in the face. Now look what happened….

Angry tears flow down my cheeks, adding to my frustration. God dammit, I refuse to be like my father! His version of dealing with Negan may have been running, but it won't be mine. As much as it pains me to admit, the smartest and safest way to face my 'problem' is to submit to his demands…. Running away and fighting back did no good for my father and I. I only hope that being a good 'pup' will give me some extra time and leeway to come up with a plan to outsmart the bastard. The pocket knife hidden underneath my head will have to lay in wait for a little while longer, but the right moment will come.

I feel myself slowly beginning to nod off as my anger wears off, my exhaustion finally getting the best of me.

XXXXXX

"Wakie Wakie! Rise and fucking shine, pup!"

I'm startled awake as a pillow slams against my head.

My eyes shoot open and I see Negan looming over me, another pillow in his hand, ready to beam it at my head. The corner of his mouth rises into a grin as he cocks his arm back, preparing for another throw.

"I'm up, I'm up!" I throw my good arm up, anticipating another blow. Negan can't help but chuckle as he tosses the pillow back on the bed.

Negan heads over to his dresser, whistling to himself as he gathers his clothes. He starts to undress right in front of me. Embarrassed and partially disgusted, I turn my head.

"You can watch if you want," he calls with a chuckle. "No need to be shy pup."

I ignore him and his mocking laughter keeping my back to the bed. Thank god he didn't try and force me to watch.

After a few minutes, he was dressed back into his black pants and leather, his jacket unzipped revealing his white t-shirt.

A clock on his nightstand reads that it's 6 AM. My body confirms it, protesting the few hours of sleep.

I gingerly adjust myself up against his bed frame, the contusions on my ribs protesting the sudden change in positioning. I twist and readjust my weight multiple times until I finally find a comfortable position that lessens the amount of discomfort.

I rotate my neck, trying my best to relieve the tense muscles. This damn collar is doing a number on me. There is one hell of a kink in my neck from having to sleep with my head situated at an awkward angle due to the chain's positioning. My good arm rises off the bed as I reach to rub the tension out of my sore muscles.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Negan suddenly snaps. He drops what he was doing and steps towards me.

I freeze, my fingers grazing the leather. His stern tone taking me aback. "I-it hurts my neck. I, um, was just readjusting it, I swear." 

Negan slowly approaches from the other side of his bed, halts in front of me, and kneels until his piercing gaze is level with mine. His lips are pressed into a hard line, showing his displeasure in my actions.

The tension mounts as he pauses a few beats before speaking.

"Now…. Did I tell you to fucking move?" he says barely above a whisper.

"N-no, but –"

He raises his hand, stopping me mid-sentence.

"It's a 'yes' or 'no' question. I don't give a shit about why you thought it was a fucking good idea, to do something when I didn't give you any direction,' he spoke in a low, authoritative tone.

'I don't care if the damn thing is burning a hole through your god damn neck! You don't touch the collar; you don't do anything unless I fucking say that you can. You understand, pup?"

Negan leans in until he is practically nose-to-nose with me, his cold expression waiting for a response.

I shakily nod my head, but then remember that I am expected to speak when spoken too.

"I'm sorry that I disobeyed you…. I promise that it won't happen again." The words tasted like poison in my mouth, but I know it's what he wanted to hear from me. I cast my eyes down and bite my tongue as I again submit to him.

Negan slowly claps his hands. "That was a damn good apology, sweetheart. I almost fucking believed you! But you really thought, I'd expect your feelings for me to change overnight? Next time, put a little more effort into that fucking apology 'cause I know that you didn't mean a word you said."

My head snaps up as he practically reads my mind. Damn, the bastard is good.

"Doll, I can read you like a fucking fairytale," he chuckles, dimples appearing on his cheeks.

My blood begins to boil at hearing the playful tone of his voice, annoyed by the fact that I can't hide anything from him. My teeth clamp down on my tongue as I use ever ounce of strength to not retort, but….

"If you can read me so damn well, then I'm sure you know how ecstatic I am to be your own personal prisoner." The statement not hiding my sass and sarcasm.

Negan remains motionless upon hearing my words, his expression unreadable. After a few seconds, he lets out a whistle.

"Oh, we got us a feisty little Chihuahua! I gotta admit, you surprise me. You still got some fucking spunk left in ya. I don't mind a little spunk. Hell, it makes for a lot of fun between the sheets, if you know what I mean." I notice Negan eye me up and down as he makes the comment.

That quickly backfired. Any attempt to stand up to him is immediately reversed and twisted into some perverted fantasy of his. I can't help but feel uneasy as his gaze lingers on me for a few seconds too long. He bites down on his lower lip as he appears to regain his train of thought.

"Fuck, what was I getting at with all of that shit? Oh yeah, that fucking reminds me…. I was so busy shoving your pretty little face in the dirt last night that it slipped my god damn mind to break down the few rules that your ass will abide by.'

'Like I was saying, I don't mind a tad bit of spunk, it keeps things fucking interesting, but you gotta keep that shit it in check. And to do that, I have a few simple rules that even a piece of shit like you could understand. You ready? Here goes, pay attention.'

'Rule number one: that collar does not come off unless I fucking take it off myself. You don't dare touch it. If you behave like a good little pup," he continues as he plays with the length of chain attached to the collar, "maybe then I'll throw you a god damn bone. But you have to prove that you'll be a good little pup for me first.'

'Rule number two: you will mind your fucking manners while you're a guest in my home."

My eyes nearly roll at the notion that I am his 'guest.' Hell of a way to treat a guest….

"You only speak when you're fucking spoken too and I only want to hear 'yes sir' and 'no sir' out of that pretty little mouth of yours.'

'Rule number three: your ass stays in my apartment. Like I said, you belong to me and I don't need my shady-as-fuck crew getting blue balls from seeing you strutting around on the main floor."

Negan pauses, his demeanor suddenly shifts. His hazel eyes narrow and the grin is replaced with a menacing snarl. I shrink back as the look in his eyes mirrors that of what I saw last night with Lucille.

"If you disobey me or break one fucking rule, I won't hesitate to dish out a healthy dose of punishment to get your ass back in line. I'm not going to put up with a yelping little mutt who thinks that they're the top of the fucking dog show. You understand?"

I finally find my voice as I quickly belt out a 'yes sir.'

"Now we're getting somewhere! You should be good to fucking go now, I think I've spelled everything out for ya."

Negan scruffs up my hair as he stands and zips up his jacket. I'm hesitant to move from my position off the floor without direction. He continues to finish getting dressed as he grabs a red scarf off a hook by his bedroom door. It's not until he's wrapped it around his neck that he peers down and notices my dilemma.

"Aw shucks, look at my wittle pup waiting for permission to get off her ass….. Well, get up and put some damn clothes on. You'll at least look like you've done something today. I've got some shit to take care of downstairs, I'll be back sometime tonight."

I immediately stand to my feet at his command, my demeanor suddenly chipper at the thought of spending the entire day without Negan's looming presence.

Negan once again picks up on my train of thought. "Oh, don't get any ideas. You think I'm fucking stupid?" he asks as he lets out a guttural laugh. "Jesus fucking Christ, like I would leave your ass up here alone. Oh, that's a good one! One of my trusted men will be monitoring you while I'm keeping the rest of those sorry-fucks in line."

Damn, I knew it was too good to be true. Still, a random 'Savior' keeping watch is still better than Negan himself. Maybe he will even assign Simon to do the job. I mean, he's still intimidating and all, but he also seems more lenient. Besides, our little powwow was cut short last night before I could really feel him out.

My inner dialogue is interrupted as Negan turns and begins coming towards me. I flinch as I see him reach his hand up, instinctively expecting a blow, only to realize that he is unhooking the chain from the collar, allowing me to move freely around the room. Most importantly, I can now reach the bathroom, my filling bladder grateful for the freedom.

"Don't need you pissing on my new carpet… You'll only be tethered at night, unless you piss me off."

Quickly, I grab my bag and dart to the bathroom and close the door before Negan changes his mind. Footsteps are heard stomping out of the room, followed by the slam of a door. He must be gone. I sink down to the tile floor, my mind processing the new terms laid before me. 

God, give me strength…. I'm going to have a time keeping my 'spunk' under wraps. All I want to do is lash out at the bastard every time a snarky comment leaves his damn mouth. I only hope that dad scraps together the money for the first payment soon. I don't know how much more of this I can take.

I take my time in the bathroom, enjoying not having to work against Negan's personal ticking clock. Again, I inspect my wounds. The bruises look even worse today, the purple blotches nearly doubling in size as it covers nearly my entire side down to my hip. Gently removing the bandages from my wrists, I see that Negan's handy work paid off. The cuts do not appear to be infected, but it will still take time for the skin to heal back together. The only injury that appears to have worsened is my shoulder, any attempt to bring my arm away from my side causes excruciating pain. The arm is practically useless, I fear that it may even be dislocated.

Finally freshened up, I step out of the bathroom clad in a pair of black basketball shorts and my favorite AJ Styles t-shirt, the leather collar still secured around my petite neck.

I make sure to place my backpack under my pillow once again, knowing that was the safest place for it to be. As much as I wanted to keep it near me twenty-four seven, it would raise immediate red flags to Negan.

It is an eerie feeling being alone in Negan's apartment. There are virtually no personal items to be seen, not even photos. His drawers reveal nothing out of the ordinary; socks, underwear, pants, and white t-shirts. Filling his small closet are only a few more t-shirts, another leather jacket, and a spare pair of boots.

After putting everything back in place, I found myself pondering my next move. How the hell am I supposed to pass the time before Negan returns tonight? A sudden gurgle from my empty stomach makes up my mind for me. First, I need to find food.

Making my way into the kitchen, I begin flinging open cabinets in search of food, my stomach continuously alerting me to that fact that my last meal was over twenty-four hours ago.

The first few cabinets are stocked full of booze, booze, and more booze. There has to be something here that I can eat! He can't survive on alcohol alone. As I grip the handle of the fourth cabinet, I utter a silent prayer.

Upon first inspection, the cabinet appears to be stocked with more liquor. I shuffle around the glass containers, halfway crawling into the cabinet to search every nook and cranny.

Please let there be something in here.… I move aside a bottle of Jack Daniels and reveal….. Jackpot!! A box of crackers! I've never been more excited in my life to see a box of plain crackers!

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

My whole body jolts as I'm startled by the rage-filled voice, causing me to bang my head on the underside of the cabinet. Rubbing my throbbing head, I turn to the source of the question and see an unknown man. He's of average build with a buzzcut and tattoos adorning his exposed arms. I can only assume that he's the man that Negan selected to keep watch.

"I'm hungry… He- Negan hasn't fed me anything. I was just looking for some food," showing the box in my hand.

The man's hard expression remains unmoved as he stomps towards me.

"If you're looking for food, you're looking in the wrong damn place. This," he says as he snatches the box of crackers from me, "is for people, not for you."

"Then what the hell am I supposed to eat around here?" Not at all hiding my pissed-off tone.

A sly grin sweeps across his face at my question.

"I'm glad you asked…."

I have no time to react as he grabs me by my hair. I let out a pitched cry as he drags me like a dog to the other side of the kitchen, my arms and legs kick and claw for traction, but to no avail. I'm shoved hard onto the ground, my face making contact with the tile. The familiar metallic taste of blood fills my mouth from an apparent busted lip.

"Boss filled me in on his little 'pup,' gave me permission to fucking treat you like one if needed be. I'd say that looting through his cabinets when he specifically told you to 'mind your manners' counts."

I wipe a trickle of blood off my bottom lip. "Look, I'm sorry. It was just a box of crackers, I was starving!"

The stranger doesn't respond, but instead turns his back to me and proceeds to fumble with something on the counter, my view from the floor preventing me from seeing exactly what. After a few moments, he tosses a plate at my feet. Brown, gelatinous meat slathered in what appeared to be gravy laid splattered on the plate.

"You won't have to worry about starving anymore! You'll get every vitamin and mineral that growing pups need to survive," he says, pointing to the wet dog food.

Dog food? I turn my nose in disgust as the stench of the food reaches my nostrils. The smell resembled that of rotten beef and eggs. My stomach is doing is best to keep its contents inside.

"Eat or starve, doesn't make a damn difference to me. Hell, I didn't even wanna be up here in the first god damn place." His comment was laced with annoyance.

I look up, dumbfounded, staring back and forth between him and the grotesque 'meal' before me. An inner battle ensues between my stomach and my nose, my stomach urgently wanting relief from its hunger and my nose screaming at my body to refuse the 'food.'

I take my foot and roughly push the plate away from me, giving Negan's lackey my answer. Negan said that he would be back later tonight, I just need to hold on until then and pray that he will be in a generous enough mood to feed me.

The tattooed man releases a huff of anger as he crouches down and grabs me by the front of my shirt, pulling me towards him. "You are sadly mistaken if you think that I'm going to put up with your fucking attitude. I didn't ask for this shit! The fucking boss-man just docked my pay cause apparently, I wasn't working fast enough for him.' 

'I tell him the bombshell of all news, the best one he's gotten in months and he sends me to fucking babysit?! I was the one who found out where your loser of a father lived! I don't deserve to be up here babysitting his new 'plaything.' Fuck that shit, fuck him, and fuck you, darlin."

I stare in shock at the Savior. The news made my body numb at the thought of this lowlife having anything to do with discovering where my dad lived.

He momentarily looks away from me, eyeing the open cabinet full of Negan's booze. Looking back and forth between the cabinet and me, he appeared to be contemplating an idea.

I'm pushed to the ground as he releases my shirt and stands to his feet.

My sore head begins throbbing once more from the impact. I glance up and see him reaching inside the cabinet where I found the crackers. His hands wrap around one of the bottles of booze, turning the contents over in his hands.

"Maybe you're not so worthless after all, kid… You can help me turn this situation around."

Smash!

Negan's man aggressively throws the bottle to the floor, dark liquid and glass scatter.

"Damn, kid! I knew you had to be ticked off at Negan, but why'd you have to go and destroy the man's stuff?"

My eyes widen in shock at his false accusations as he smashes bottle after bottle of Negan's precious alcohol, taking his rage out on the containers. I try to step forward to stop him but the shards of glass fly in all directions, causeing me to stop and shield my face to avoid impalement. Three… four… now five bottles lay in a million pieces, the overwhelming aroma of the booze filling the entire apartment.

He stands over the carnage, panting and wiping the thin layer of sweat that developed on his forehead. The man evilly laughs as he admires his handy work. "Boy, do I feel fucking better! I appreciate you taking the bullet for me, kid,' he winks, insinuating that I had a choice in the matter.

'Boss isn't going to be too thrilled when he sees the mess that you made… How does this sound? – 'Boss, I walked in right as she was smashing your bottles! She was crazy… She even tried to fight back when I chained her back up to keep her under control. I just don't understand why she would do such a thing.' I think he'll buy that!"

Son of a bitch. That cold and calculated excuse-for-a-man just signed my death certificate. My mind is still trying to process the situation as the coward again leans down, catches hold of my shirt, and pulls me towards Negan's room. He makes sure to drag me through the sharp shards of glass on the floor, causing a few pieces to lodge into the flesh of my hands and knees.

He aggressively throws me down onto my bed upon reaching Negan's room. A cry of pain leaves me as I land square on my mangled right shoulder. I clutch the limb with my good arm and attempt to roll onto my left side to relieve the pressure. The bastard prevents me from doing so as he kneels and tries to get access to the collar and reattach the chain, grabbing me by the hair and forcing my head down against the mattress. My attempts to squirm out of his grip are futile as he securely holds me down and connects the chain.

"Thanks again for the help, kid. Don't worry, he won't mess you up too bad… maybe." The lackey utters as he stands and walks out of the room, slamming the door.

My fist angrily beats down against the floor as tears once again fall from my face. There is no way to prepare myself for what's to come. The man threatened me for a simple infraction of touching the collar. What will he do when his own man spits the tale of lies? God, please let Negan have mercy.

Hours pass. The clock now reads 3:45 PM. The man hasn't returned, but he's been heard cleaning up 'my' mess and moving about the apartment. The pain in my head and shoulder has finally subsided. I've also managed to take advantage of the time, picking the small pieces of glass from my hands and knees, the wounds only superficial scrapes.

I prop myself up against the bed frame as the day drags on towards my execution.

My heart skips a beat as I hear the familiar sound of the front door opening. It may not be him… it could be Simon, or even Dwight. I strain my ears to distinguish the identity of the muffled voice speaking to the henchman.

"She did what?!" Negan's unmistaken roar echoes through the walls.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

He came back early!

Thunderous steps stomped near the bedroom door. I'm damn near shaking out of my skin as I frantically prepare myself for what's to come.

Boom!

Negan kicks the door down in rage, causing the door the hang from the hinges. His fiery gaze scans the room until they fix on the cowering figure next to his bed.

I force myself to raise my head and peak at him. Lucille is slung on his shoulder, his hands squeezing the wood so tightly that his knuckles appear white. He is so enraged that his breathing resembles a predatory growl emitting from his chest.

"You've really fucked up this time, doll."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Spitfire47.


	8. Chapter 8

Negan is absolutely livid. I don't know whether to focus on him or the barbed weapon being held in a death grip as he attempts to compose his anger.

My knees are curled into my chest as I attempt to make myself as small as possible. I wish I could disappear from view, anything to get out of this situation.

Negan continues to linger at the broken doorway, his burning stare not leaving me. I tuck my head between my knees, too terrified to make eye contact with him.

My inner panic increases as the shuffling of footsteps alerts me of his movement, the unmistaken thud of each heavy step seemed to echo through the room. The sound ceases and I can sense his towering presence over me. His shadow emphasized his anger as if played over my cowering form.

An eerie silence falls, the only audible sounds being my low whimpers and Negan's unsteady breathing. The tension in the room mounts as I wait for him to speak.

"Look at me," he growls through clenched teeth.

I slowly ease my head up. My eyes lingering below his nose as a way of avoiding eye contact.

A yelp leaves me as his thick fingers intertwine in my hair, forcing me to comply to his demand. My hands grab his wrist trying to ease the pain stinging my scalp. I've never seen a human-being engulfed in anger of this magnitude.

I don't try to fight out of his hold out of fear of pissing him off even more.

"You wanna explain to me what the fuck you were thinking, smashing my shit like that?"

I'm at a loss for words. Contemplating between telling him that his own man is lying to his face or to just accept my punishment and pray that it's over with quickly…. What if he doesn't believe me and that only fuels his rage even more? I go for it anyway.

"I didn't do it, I swear to God! He's lying to you!"

His grip tightens, causing my scalp to burn in excruciating pain. 

"You gotta be shitting me! One of my own god damn men destroyed five bottles of my best shit? Then tries to pin it on you?"

"H-he was p-pissed at you, said y-you docked his p-pay," I manage to say in-between sobs. "K-knew you w-would blame m-me…"

Negan increases the pressure until it feels that every hair follicle is about to be torn from my scalp. His face is emotionless as he watches me sob and thrash against him in agony.

"If you're fucking lying to me, that pretty little face of yours will never look the same again," he lowly whispers the threat.

There is instant relief as my hair is released from his vice. I'm quick to crawl away from him, curling myself into a ball between his bed frame and nightstand as if they could offer any protection for me.

Negan doesn't utter another word as he storms out of the room, not even bothering to attempt to shut the half-broken door.

"Boss?" I hear the henchman ask in the other room.

"Not fucking now! Keep her restrained, and stay away from her," Negan yells as I hear his stomps descending the stairs to the main floor.

I'm left alone, trying to process what just transpired. The fact that he didn't smash my skull in on the spot perplexes me. I almost wish that he would've gotten it over with instead of forcing me to wait even longer for my impending doom.

I need to get out of here before he comes back. My left hand grasps the collar in search for the point-of-attachment for the chain. Dammit, my fingers wrap around what feels to be a lock on the back of the collar. I knew that I should've paid more attention when Negan was hooking me up last night…

I move on to the end of the chain hooked to the bed post. The chain is tightly wrapped three or four times around the wooden post, also secured by a heavy-duty lock.

I grab the metal and pull with all the strength I could muster with my left arm, bracing my feet against the nightstand for added leverage.

Come on! Just…. Break…. Free!

The chain falls with a loud clink onto the floor as my grip falters, sending me sprawling onto my back. Luckily, there was enough slack to prevent my neck from being snatched mid-fall.

It's no use, the bed frame didn't even move a centimeter from my weak attempts.

Where could that damn key be?

I get myself into a kneeling position where I'm now eye-level with his nightstand. The only thing inside the sparse drawers are a box of condoms and a few cigars. I slam the drawer shut in frustration and plop back down onto my mattress. The limited chain length prevents me from searching anywhere else. There is no other choice but to wait for Negan to return.

XXXXXXXXXX

My panic-induced frenzy tired me out. I later woke to the feeling of multiple hands grabbing me.

My eyes fling open as Simon and Dwight roughly grab me by my arm and shirt, hoisting me to a standing position. Dwight holds me steady as Simon reaches under Negan's pillow and retrieves a key.

Of course he would hide it there…. He did say that I would only be tethered at night, meaning that the key would be safely guarded under his sleeping head. Attempting to grab the key would've definitely been a suicide mission.

Simon makes quick work of the lock, removing both the chain and the collar from my sore neck.

"You won't be needing this for now. It'll just get in the way, princess," Simon says as he tosses the collar to the ground. His tone is dark and mysterious, his words not revealing much, but it's enough for me to know that I'm not going to like what happens next.

Simon glances at Dwight as if he was expecting him to make the next move.

"Go on, Dwighty-boy. You know how this process works," Simon raises an eyebrow and gestures towards me.

Dwight hesitates before reluctantly pulling the familiar zip-ties out of his back pocket. Simon is about to grab me to turn me around when I interrupt him.

"I won't fight you, there's no point to resist you two... I'll comply with your every instruction. But please go easy on my right shoulder, that's all I ask," I sincerely asked the two men. I realized that my chances of successfully fighting off the trained men were slim-to-none. Besides, that would only cause more harm to my useless shoulder.

With that, I turn around and assume the position to the best of my ability, unable to move my right arm fully behind my back.

It's amazing how things have come full circle. Just twenty-four hours ago, Negan was placing zip-ties on me and reassuring my safety if I cooperated. Well, look what cooperation gave me – another pair of zip-ties that will lead to my ending.

I try to prepare myself for the familiar bite of the zip-ties on my freshly-wounded wrist, knowing how bad it's going to hurt.

The cool plastic wraps around my wrists and begins to tighten. The tightening stops as Dwight releases my wrists and turns me back around to face them. The zip-ties are practically loose on my wrists, tight enough to prevent me from slipping free but loose enough to not cause discomfort.

I know what to expect next… I'm correct as Simon hands Dwight a blindfold, the same blindfold from yesterday.

The realization of what is happening finally sets in. My tough exterior cracks as I begin to openly cry in front of these two strangers.

Simon quickly looks away at the sight of my tears, pretending to fiddle with his watch.

Dwight, on the other hand, doesn't turn away, but instead keeps his gaze on me. The eyes that were previously pointed, angry, and full of hate now show something else… His eyes are softer, revealing not just pity, but remorse and sorrow.

Not all of Negan's men are as cold-hearted as they appear.

Dwight finally breaks his gaze and raises the blindfold. I promptly follow his lead and turn back around. My world fades to black as the cotton fabric envelops my vision. I feel Dwight step closer to me, his body ever-so lightly pressing against mine as he securely knots the fabric.

"I'm sorry…" He sincerely whispers in my ear before pulling away.

More tears fall at hearing his words as he gently grasps my forearm and turns me back around. Dwight's hand lingers on my arm, softly holding on to me. His contact not meant as a way to prevent an escape, but as a way of further communicating his regret and empathy. Him and I stand there together, our mutual silence speaking volumes in the current situation.

"Okay, chop-chop!" Simon's voice causes me to jump, forgetting that he was present. "It should be ready by now. Let's go, kid."

On cue, I feel Simon grab my right arm, his touch has a bit of pressure to it.

I think back to what Simon just mentioned about 'something being ready.' What could he be eluding to?

"Where are we going? What should be ready?" My meek voice laced with obvious fear.

There's a long pause as neither man makes a move to answer my question.

"The furnace," Dwight mutters in clear discomfort, an audible tinge of pain in his voice. I feel his hand against me begin to shake.

What the hell does Negan have planned for me? Whatever it is, it doesn't sound promising judging by Dwight's demeanor.

"If you're fucking lying to me, that pretty little face of yours will never look the same again." Negan's words echo in my mind.

Fuck! It all makes sense now – his threat, the furnace, even Dwight's hesitation and level of empathy. Dwight isn't just distraught because he knows what is about to transpire; he's distraught because he was once in my shoes, Negan has done the exact same thing to him. Negan is going to burn the side of my face off, just like he did Dwight….

The two men lead me through the apartment and down the stairs to the main floor. My sense of location is gone after that as we make several turns, passing through doorway after doorway until reaching another set of stairs. The steps feel steeper than the ones before, resulting in Simon taking the lead as he guides me down while Dwight steadies me from behind with a protective hold on my left arm.

"Watch your step, princess," I hear Simon warn.

"That's kinda hard to do with a blindfold on, Simon," Dwight retorts.

"Good fucking point," he chuckles

The farther we descend the stairs, the warmer the temperature seems to get. By the time we reach the bottom, I am near sweating from the extreme level of heat. This only adds to my worry because that means that we are near the furnace… and Negan…

My legs involuntarily lock-up in fear, resulting in a slight shove by Dwight, edging me forward once more.

In the distant, I hear the increasing roar of a large fire.

My heart is damn near beating out of my chest. My lungs struggle to fill with air as struggle to fight off a panic attack, my crying no longer silent as I softly whimper in fright.

"Shhh… It's going to be okay," Dwight gently whispers, loud enough for me to hear but soft enough to be undetected by Simon.

His words were meant to comfort me, but they only added to my worry. I could hear the tinge of doubt in his voice as if he was trying to convince himself otherwise.

Simon suddenly stops me, the thunderous roar and the blistering heat from the fire alerting me that we had reached our destination.

My vision returns as the blindfold is ripped away. We are standing in the middle of a large room. Discarded boxes and trash line the walls. There are many small windows near the ceiling. This, along with knowing that we descended another level of stairs tells me that we must be in the basement.

It's nighttime. The room's only source of light is from the large, industrial furnace before us. I can see large flames dancing within the structure through the metal-barred door.

A low whistle echoes through the room.

My head snaps towards the direction of the familiar tune as Negan appears out of the shadows with Lucille comfortably slung over his shoulder.

His demeanor appears much calmer than earlier. In fact, the man practically has a grin on his face.

I hear another set of footsteps and turn to see another figure coming into view. The glowing embers from the fire slowly reveals it to be the accusing Savior, a sick grin spreads on the asshole's face.

My rage gets the best of me as I attempt to lunge forward towards the lying bastard, only for Simon and Dwight to roughly yank me back in place between the two.

"There's that spunk I was talking about earlier!' Negan chuckles, the evil sound reverberating off the cinderblock walls.

'Strap her down, boys. I don't fucking need the little shit squirming around while I try to do my job."

My feet leave the ground as Dwight wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me up. Simon fades into the shadows, only to reappear dragging an armed chair into view. Dwight easily carries my light frame, plopping me down in the seat of the chair. Simon places a calloused hand between my shoulder blades, leaning me forward to allow Dwight access to the zip-ties, which he snaps from my wrists with his knife.

Each man grabs a wrist and proceeds to bind them to the arms of the chair with more zip-ties. I try to fight out of their grasp, but that soon stops as Simon harshly pulls on my injured arm, forcing me to submit or receive another excruciating pull.

They check the bindings one more time before stepping back. Unlike when Dwight first applied the zip-ties, these are as tight as possible, even the slightest movement causes the plastic to tear through my healing gashes.

Negan steps forward, lazily swinging Lucille from side-to-side until he is directly in front of me.

"Comfortable?" He raises an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side.

"Please don't do this Negan! I didn't do it, I swear to God, I didn't do it…." my voice trails off as I hysterically plead for my life. "He smashed your bottles and knowing that you were going to do this, he put the blame on me!"

"Shit, darlin', you're tugging on all my heart strings. You deserve a fucking Oscar for that performance! I see that you're sticking to the same damn story as earlier…. Oh well, you've made your fucking decision. You understand why this is happening, don't you?" He asks, kneeling to meet my gaze.

There's no point in trying to convince him now. "A r-rule was bro-broken...."

"Bingo! And why are rules important?" Negan points Lucille at Simon.

"Rules keep us alive." He robotically answers.

"That's fucking right! The rules keep us alive. Without rules, this damn business would go to shit real quick. And what happens when someone breaks a fucking rule?" This time pointing Lucille towards Dwight.

"…you get punished." Dwight answers, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.

"Fuck yeah, you do! It's that simple - follow the rules and things will be peachy. But break a rule," Negan pauses, pointing towards the raging fire. "Then it's the iron for you."

I begin to pull at my restraints once again. My attempts cause blood to ooze from my wrists as my thrashing inflicts more damage.

Negan doesn't try to stop my worthless attempts at escaping. In fact, he begins to laugh in my face.

"You've got balls, I'll give you that much! But you have no one to blame but yourself. You see, if your dumb ass hadn't lied to me, this wouldn't be happening,' He says as he motions towards the furnace.

'Sure, I would've dragged your ass outside last night – Lucille was really praying for that shit – but you had to go and fuck things up even more and lie to me," he says, shaking his head in disappointment.

Standing to his feet, Negan hands Lucille to Simon and walks towards the furnace.

"D', get your ass over here," he barks.

Dwight sulks towards the flames. He reaches into a box near the furnace, pulling out thick leather gloves that go up to the elbow, a long metal rod with a hook on the end, and a solid iron. He quickly adorns the gloves, situates the iron on the hook, and places the hunk of metal into the burning furnace.

"You wanna know why liars get the fucking iron instead of Lucille? Because then, they have to walk around with half their face melted off for the rest of their pathetic lives. It's like a walking billboard to the rest of my men saying 'If you lie, you lose half your face.' My people need to know that I won't put up with that shit from anyone.'

Negan reaches into the same box that Dwight used earlier, pulling out another leather glove. Dwight pulls the metal rod out of the flames, the iron glowing a bright orange from the intense heat. Negan shoots Dwight a smirk as he grabs the iron off the hook using the thick leather glove.

'I'm sorry that it had to come to this, darlin'. I really don't enjoy doing this shit, I already fucking told you that.' Negan sternly says as he slowly walks towards me with the sizzling iron. 'But I must maintain my authority amongst my men, they need to respect me. Lying will never be tolerated here at the Sanctuary. I told you that there would be hell to pay for any infractions to the rules and I'm a man of my god damn word."

At this point, I'm thrashing around so much in the chair that Simon is forced to hold the chair in place to prevent me from tipping it over.

Negan is only a few feet from me now, the reddened surface of the iron inching dangerously close.

My body leans as far as possible away from Negan, stretching my restraints to the limit. A sharp twist of my head from Simon redirects me into the path of the iron. My head is immobilized, Simon forcing me in place with one hand palming the back of my head and the other hand locked tight around my jaw, keeping my head tilted to give Negan perfect access to my left cheek.

Tears flood down my face, my shirt visibly damp from the continued stream. I want to scream as Negan slowly brings the iron towards me, but Simon's grip on my jaw prevents me from doing so. I can feel the heat radiating off its glowing surface as I prepare for the feeling of melting flesh.

"Don't worry, I won't mess you up too bad… maybe," Negan pauses, the iron centimeters from my flesh. “Ain't that right?" - turning the question to the Savior who was previously looking on in glee; his devilish smirk now gone.

Time comes to a stand-still as Negan's question lingers in the air, no one daring to move or speak up.

"W-wait, what?" The accusing Savior stammers, his eyes widening in sudden panic.

"Isn't that how you said it? Or do you not think that I will fucking 'buy that'? I know the kid is 'worthless' and all, but hey, she is 'taking the bullet' for your ass." Negan's voice raises as he continues to speak.

My breath hitches as Negan's remarks spark flashbacks of the condescending comments that the accusing bastard had hurled at me during his rage-filled, bottle breaking frenzy. The Savior spoke those same words to me when we were alone in the apartment, there is no way that Negan or anyone else could have overheard them in any way…. What else does Negan know about what transpired?

Negan's statements also takes the Savior aback. Even in the dimly lit room, I could visibly see the color drain from his face.

Negan backs away from me, the iron now a safe distance from me, focusing all his attention on the fidgeting Savior.

"That is what you told her, correct?"

"N-no, I d-didn't –"

"If I were you, I'd be damn careful what I say next," Negan waves the iron in his direction, emphasizing his point.

The Savior can't stand still as he nervously shifts his weight from one foot to another. His desperate eyes dance around the room looking for any possible escape route. Ascending the stairwell to the main floor is his only option, but that would mean having to go through Negan and his lieutenants, an impossible feat to accomplish.

I suddenly feel Simon release my head from the angled position. He quickly glances towards Dwight, both men exchanging a confused look. Obviously, they were not filled in on Negan's alternative plans for the night either.

At this point, Negan takes a threatening step towards the Savior, who responds by backing a few steps away from the man and the scorched iron in his hand. The cat and mouse game continues as Negan inches closer and closer.

Giving a slight shrug, Simon follows Negan's lead, approaching the Savior from the opposite side. Dwight takes the opportunity to box the Savior in from the rear, preventing him from backing any further away from Negan. The Savior is completely surrounded as the men form a predatory ring around him.

"Oh! So now you have nothing to fucking say to me? You can talk all that shit to a damn girl but you don't have the balls to confront me like a fucking man? And then you lie to me on top of that? Shit – you must really think that I'm not a man of my fucking word…" Negan toys with the trembling man before him.

"B-but, how...-"

"How did I know that you're a lying piece-of-shit?' he interjects. "Big brother is always fucking watching. You can never be too careful when you oversee as much shit as I do, I have to have a way to keep an eye on my assets and my shady-as-fuck employees like you.'

'There are over fifty cameras shoved into every god damn nook and cranny of this shithole. One of them captured one hell of a show this morning! You see, after hearing from you and my pup, something just wasn't adding up. I know that I'm not her favorite damn person right now after our little lessons in 'respect', but she isn't that fucking stupid to smash all my shit. She knows god damn well that I would beat the fuckity-fuck out of her. Am I right, pup?'

"Yes sir," I quickly reply to get the attention off me.

"You see that? She hasn't even been here two whole damn days and she gets it – this isn't personal, it's business! You have nothing to fucking worry about if you keep your nose clean and do your damn job. Not bitch and complain whenever your ass gets reprimanded for some stupid shit that was your own fault.'

'You're mad that I cut your pay? Maybe if you'd gotten off your lazy ass and actually did your job, you would get some recognition. You upset that I didn't throw you a fucking party after bringing me intel on the whereabouts of our own personal 'where's-fucking-Waldo?'" Negan spits. "Tough shits! I hate to break it to ya, but it just doesn't fucking work that way….'

Negan nods towards Simon and Dwight, cueing the men. Dwight comes up from behind the Savior and wraps his arms around his neck, pulling him towards the wall near the furnace. The Savior struggles against Dwight but is unmatched due to Dwight being a few inches taller and many pounds heavier. He is manhandled by Dwight until he is roughly pushed face-first against the surface of the brick.

Dwight releases the chokehold and uses his body weight to keep the man pressed against the wall, allowing him the ability to only move his head. His brief, limited movement is denied as Simon resumes his duty and holds the Savior's head still. Tilting it to the optimal angle as he did with me, giving Negan the perfect target for the flat surface of the iron.

"You can't do this! This isn't right!" The Savior attempts to struggle against the lieutenants as Negan stands a mere few feet away from him. The glowing iron closing its distance.

"Yeah… This isn't right. It isn't right that one of my own fucking men chose to lie to my face and act like a ball-less coward, placing the blame on a god damn girl. You're a gutless, piece-of-shit and this will be a daily fucking reminder of that…."

A shrill scream pierces the space as the iron is firmly pressed into the flesh of the Savior. The sound of the sizzling flesh resembled that of bacon cooking in a frying pan. Dwight and Simon are using all of their power to keep the brutalized man from overpowering them in his agony-filled struggle. The room grows quiet moments later as the Savior passes out from the extreme pain, his body only being held up by Dwight and Simon at this point.

Satisfied by the outcome, Negan pulls the iron away from the man's face, carrying with it melted strings of layered flesh.

I immediately turn my head at the sight of the grotesque wound, swallowing down the vomit attempting to leave my stomach. The iron burned through several layers of skin, the area now flaming red in color.

Dwight and Simon gently ease the unconscious man to the floor, laying him down at Negan's feet.

"When the motherfucker wakes up, take his ass to Dr. Carson's office in the next town. I don't care that it's damn near midnight and that the bastard is probably home for the night. I don't pay him so god damn much for nothing." Negan instructs his men, tucking Lucille into his belt loop.

I'm in a daze after what I just witnessed. The sight, sounds, and smells reaffirm that I'm not dreaming, I literally just watched a man get half of his face burned off…

"Darlin'? Hey? Hey!" The sound of Negan's voice pulls me back to reality. I lift my eyes from the gory scene and see him peering down at me. His brown eyes soft for a change, an unexpected observation after what he just did.

"Let's get you back upstairs."

With that, he cuts through my restraints using his trademark hunting knife. The sudden contact of air on my reopened wounds causes me to hiss in pain, instantly grasping my wrists.

Negan lightly prods at my wrists as he looks them over. "Shit, I'll have to patch them up again." He shakes his head as he also sees the cuts on my hands.

I only nod in response, still not sure what to make of what just happened.

I go to stand up, but a sharp pain through my side forces me back down. My frenzied thrashing around while restrained must have aggravated my rib injuries. I just can't catch a damn break…

Seeing my discomfort, Negan stretches his arms forward. "Only if you want to.… I understand if you don't wanna be that fucking close to me, after what you just watched me do," he says, offering to carry me back to his apartment.

The fact that I don't even hesitate to accept his offer momentarily surprises me as I mutter a faint 'it's fine' and allow him to lean down and once again pick me up. He gently snakes an arm around my side, careful not to apply too much pressure to my sensitive ribs, his other arm supporting my legs. I rest my head against the cool leather of his jacket, letting the sensation calm my anxious demeanor after the day's festivities.

"Why are you being so nice?" I whisper.

"I already told ya, 'gentle Negan' does fucking exist towards those who know how to follow the rules. You told the truth, he didn't. He got the shit burned out of him, you didn't. Simple as that."

I steal one final glance towards the heap-of-a-man still unresponsive on the concrete floor. The gleeful smile that was previously on his face is now affixed on mine, the son-of-a-bitch got what he deserved.

"You won't have to worry about him anymore," Negan says as he notices my line of sight.

He gives one last nod towards Dwight and Simon before exiting the room towards the first set of stairs.

"How are you so fucking calm right now?" Negan sincerely questions as he makes his way through the Sanctuary. "You just watched me barbecue a man's face like it was the forth-of-fucking-July and you act like it's just another day at the office."

I ponder my explanation before speaking. "I don't know…. I was deathly afraid for my life the entire time until you turned the iron away from me," I pause to collect my thoughts. "Seeing what I saw should cause me to cower away from you in pure terror. Now, I absolutely fear you," I quickly clarify, causing a smirk from him, "but this also reassures me, in a sense, that you're a man of your word and that I can trust you."

Negan glances down at me in confusion at my words. "Me inflicting excruciating pain on another fucking individual adds more trust? Please explain, darlin', cause ya lost me."

"I didn't fully believe you when you told me that obeying your rules would make for an easier stay here at the Sanctuary. In all honesty, I thought that you would twist every rule around so that you would have an excuse to punish me, even when I didn't deserve it.' I advert my eyes from his as I made the last comment.

'I thought that tonight was going to be just like that even though I was being truthful. It was my word against the word of one of your own man, there was no way that I would expect you to believe me. I truly believed that you were about to burn the side of my face off for an act that I did not commit...." My body begins to shake at the thought of what could have easily happened.

"Shhhh, shhh." Negan calms me as we enter the apartment. "What did I tell you? I don't get off on doing this kind of shit, I only do it because I have to. If you stay in your damn lane, then you've got nothing to worry about, doll. But mess up, and I'm going to get to the bottom of it and you will be punished accordingly. You know this and my fucking men know this. It's as simple as listening to me."

Shuffling past his hanging bedroom door, Negan heads towards the sitting area in his room and carefully sets me down into one of the armed chairs. He quickly steps out to retrieve the first aid kit, returning and assuming the same position as last night.

"So you trust me now?" he questions, raising an eyebrow as he meticulously cleans my wounds.

"I trust that you'll keep your word when it comes to the rules and punishments, you'll hold me to the same standards of your own workers. I won't have to fear that you'll randomly decide to bash my brains in with Lucille for no reason… correct?"

"I'll keep her appetite in check, just don't give me a reason to let her have a fucking buffet with your guts." Negan states in all seriousness.

"Enough said, that won't be a problem... sir."

"Fan-fucking-tastic!" He finishes wrapping the dressings over my wrists and hands, careful to not bind them too tightly. "Done. It's late, go ahead and get your ass in bed." 

My tense muscles instantly relax when I lay down on my semi-soft bed of blankets. Cloud nine pales in comparison to the feeling of this bed after the absolute day-in-hell that I have endured.

Negan doesn't even bother to put the first aid kit away, knowing that my bandages will need to be inspected and changed in the morning.

He bends down and grabs the collar on the ground. I wish he wouldn't put it on, but knew that words wouldn't tell him otherwise. Snap, goes the lock as the collar encases my neck once more. The chains oddly felt not so heavy as before, not light as a feather but more of a manageable weight.

I turn my back to him as he once again begins to strip in front of me as he changes into his sweatpants and t-shirt.

"You're missing a hell of a show, sure ya don't wanna sneak a peak?" He playfully chimes in.

"Uhm, no thanks." I reply, keeping my eyes glued to the black carpet.

Negan lets out an exaggerated sigh in mock disappointment. The eventual shuffling of his bare feet on the carpet signals to me that it's safe to turn back around.

I turn over on my back, startled as I bump into Negan's leg in the process. He is standing by his nightstand, phone is hand. His attention is focused solely on the screen, not even acknowledging the brush of contact.

It must be something business related. Whatever it is, it must be important because his thumbs begin to rattle against the screen as he types a lengthy reply.

"Hot diggity-dog!' he excitingly bellows, placing the phone down on the nightstand.

'I've got some good news, darlin'. I just got word that ol' daddy-o has scraped together his first fucking payment! I'm impressed, even I didn't expect his bitch ass to pull it together that damn quick…" Negan shakes his head in genuine astonishment.

Holy shit – I'm going home! Tears of joy can't help but fall from my eyes upon hearing the news. I cover my face with my blanket, knowing that Negan would have a snarky comment about my reaction and situation.

"Yeah, yeah. Hip-hip-fucking-hooray," Negan mutter as he climbs into bed. "Don't get too ahead of yourself now, you do remember that I own your ass right? That doesn't change just because your dad paid me a minuscule fraction of what he fucking owes me. This is only the beginning, darlin'. You'll be back at my Sanctuary in no time at all.' I can see the corners of Negan's mouth rise into a satisfied grin.

'Get some shut eye. Tomorrow is going to be a big fucking day!" Negan gleams as he switches off the light on his nightstand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Spitfire47
> 
> I hope that you guys enjoyed the update! What do you think? I'd love to hear!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the late update, guys! I had a family emergency this past week and had limited time to write. Things have improved and I hope to be able to update the next chapter on time. Thanks for being patient!

Sleep evades me once again, my mind is still processing Negan's news. I toss and turn as much as the chain would allow in an effort to quiet my mind, but to no avail.

I get to leave this hell hole.… Sure, I'll have to come back eventually under Negan's original 'terms' as the insurance policy, but I need to get out of here. I need to figure out a plan to help my dad scrape together the funds for Negan's payments. It would take him years to pay Negan using my dad's sporadic income as a mechanic. We could always sell the truck… or my guitar… anything to bring in extra cash.

All I have to do is stay on my best behavior until tomorrow and pray that dad doesn't try to do anything stupid during the exchange. His current state-of-mind could be all over the place; I mean, he helplessly watched a sadistic monster kidnap his daughter and threaten her safety on numerous occasions.

Jesus, please don't let my father push Negan's patience tomorrow… It wouldn't end well for either of us.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Crash!

"Shit!"

I bolt upright out of bed. Startled awake by the sudden noise, I instinctively reach under the pillow for my pocket knife. That is until I spot Negan by the dresser, the contents of the first aid kit scattered around his feet.

"Not what I had planned for your wake-up call, but at least your ass is up," Negan says, a satisfied grin on his face. "Since this shit is already out, might as well take a look at those pretty little wrists of yours."

He grabs a few of the adhesive bandages off the floor, placing them on the side-table near the armed chair and proceeds towards me.

Knowing the routine, I kick off my blankets and stand to my feet, giving Negan better access to unhook the chain. Clip – the familiar sound of the chain releasing, allowing me a slight level of freedom in this captive situation.

Negan makes quick work of my dressings, considering that he has had plenty of practice. A few of the lacerations required more attention than others due to being deeper in the skin. All I could do was grit my teeth through the stinging pain as he gently applied antiseptic to the wounds.

Finally finished, Negan allows me to quickly dress and freshen up in the bathroom while he puts away the first aid kit. I don't linger an added second, cautious of his time constraint.

He's nowhere to be seen as I exit the bathroom. A rustling of glasses from the kitchen confirms his whereabouts, must be getting himself a drink….

By the time he returns, shot of whisky in hand, I'm sitting on my bed already dressed and bag packed. He shakes his head and doesn't say a word as he grabs fresh clothes and continues into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

It's only 8:30 AM. Negan mentioned while cleaning my wrists that we're supposed to meet my father at noon. The anticipation of today's meet has me unable to sit still. I mindlessly fiddle with the adhesive on my wrist, anything to keep me occupied as I impatiently wait for Negan to finish getting ready.

A loud gurgle emits from my stomach, reminding me that it has been near empty for the past few days. Negan should be out soon, maybe he'll spare a few scraps of food for me.

Twenty minutes pass and still no Negan. My stomach twists and turns in hunger, the feeling damn near painful. What is taking him so long? Maybe I could slip into the kitchen and find something before he comes out…? No, I can't take the chance. If he were to find me, it's no telling what he would do to me. He may even cancel today's meet, my only chance of going home.

My body hunches over as my stomach spasms again in hunger. That's it, I can't wait any longer.

Standing up, I go over to the bathroom door and hesitantly knock. No response, but I can hear something on the other side of the door. Moaning? Taking a deep breath, I knock once more, but louder.

Negan's frustrated muttering is heard on the other side of the door before it opens enough for him to poke his head through. There's a thin layer of sweat on his forehead and his eyes are oddly glazed over.

"Kinda busy right now, darlin'…?" he pants, clearly out of breath.

Seeing my confused look, he impatiently points down toward his hidden body. "A man has needs that he has to take care of from time to time. Alone...."

My cheeks grow red in embarrassment at his words, realizing that he was jerking himself off just moments before. That explains why it took so long to get his attention….

"Umm… I'm hungry. I, uh, still haven't eaten since I've been here. Can I go find something to eat before we go?" I stutter, refusing to look at him.

"Simon's ass should still be in the kitchen after our few drinks. Get him to make you a fucking sandwich or something, I don't care.… Unless you'd rather have a different kind of protein," lowering his voice as he bites his lower lip, his gaze traveling down my body.

"I-I'll just g-go find Simon," I quickly ramble, turning in haste to get away.

"You'll come around, they always do." He sings as he closes the door.

That sick bastard. I wouldn't want his foul-mouthed ass anywhere near me, even if I wasn't in my current situation.

Take a deep breath… Don't let it get to you.

Simon is exactly where Negan said he would be – leaning against the counter and casually sipping from a glass of clear liquid. He straightens up upon seeing me.

"Morning, princess. Sleep well after last night? It sure was a doozy, wasn't it?"

"That's one way to put it," I mumble. A shiver courses through me as flashbacks of last night flood my mind: the unbearable heat of the furnace, the horror of almost being ironed, and the putrid smell of charred tissue…. That's one night that I will never forget.

I shake my head from side-to-side trying to regain my train of thought. "Negan is still in the shower. He said I could have something to eat before we hit the road and to find you."

"Hmph. Well, let's see what ol' chef Simon can whip together for you." Simon flings open a few cabinets.

In a few minutes, I am greedily devouring the bologna and cheese sandwich that Simon prepared for me. My stomach could've easily handled another one, but I didn't want to push my luck by asking for more.

A fresh Negan strolls into the kitchen clad in his usual garb with Lucille hanging from his belt loop.

He flashes a wolfish grin and a wink in my direction, hinting at the 'offer' that he made me. Pleased by my discomfort, he turns his attention to Simon.

"Everything in order?" Negan questions.

"We're good to go. Arat has been briefed on today's quotas. She'll make sure those sorry-shits stay on task."

Negan nods in approval. "Alright, let's get this fucking show on the road! We pull out in five."

Finally, we're about to leave! I can't hide my elation as I rush to retrieve my bag from the bedroom. I sling it over my shoulder and run out.

I scurry back into the kitchen when Negan grabs my shoulder, stopping me in place.

"Geez, slow your fucking roll, you're moving like a bat out of hell! If I wasn't mistaken, I'd say that you can't wait to leave this shithole that I call home. Damn, that hurts kid, just when I thought that things were going so well." He places a hand on his chest in mock anguish.

"N-no, It's not that," I scramble to think. "I-I just missed my d-dad, that's all."

Negan's features are unreadable as he analyzes my response, before he reaches up and ruffles my hair. "Good answer, pup!"

Relieved by his response, I turn to go, only for his massive hand to seize me again, more vigorous this time.

"Did I dismiss you?" His dark eyes narrow at me. "Didn't think so. Turn around, you know the fucking drill," he growls. Hanging from his other hand is the black fabric of the blindfold.

I am not surprised. As if Negan would actually allow me to make the journey without any kind of restraints.

Once the blindfold is synched tight, I turn myself around, not needing Negan's guidance. It worries me how acclimated I'm getting to being without my sense of sight.

My arms are behind my back before Negan prompts me to do so, prepared for the zip-ties.

"I hate to disappoint ya pup," he says upon seeing my posture, "but no zip-ties, your wrists are fucked up enough. Any more of that and they'll be cutting through your damn bone."

What? Maybe Negan trusts me more than I thought if he's allowing me to travel with only my eyes covered.

Click – the sudden feeling of added weight on my neck tells me otherwise. The chain…

"Only for the ride, can't be too cautious. Since I'm not cuffing you, your arms are to remain at your side, if they leave then you'll get the biggest punishment of your life. Now, move." Negan roughly shoves me forward, nearly knocking me off kilter.

Once again, I'm blindly lead through the Sanctuary until I feel the crunch of gravel under my feet, reaching the truck.

"Come on, princess, in you go!" I hear Simon command. Of course, Negan would bring his right-hand-man along… Does he go anywhere alone?

Simon guides me into the middle seat, careful not the tangle the chain in the process. The truck shifts as he slips into the passenger seat and Negan climbs into the driver's seat, both slamming their doors with a flourish. Before we can take off, the truck shifts once more as someone climbs into the seat behind me, the back-passenger door creaking shut.

"Nice of you to finally fucking join us, 'D'," Negan mocks.

Dwight doesn't response, merely buckles up as Negan steps on the gas.

Red flags arise with the fact that Negan is bringing not one, but two of his lieutenants along for the meet with my father. He didn't even bring both men when he first confronted my father and I, so why bring two men this time?

Unlike the first road trip, no one says a word, the only sound coming from the rhythmic rumble of the truck's engine. I almost wish that someone would strike up a conversation, anything to break the monotonous silence.

Always on cue, I hear Negan clear his throat.

"Listen up, here's the rundown and rules for today. Your pops will meet us at the location and his ass better be there on time. He'll hand over my money, which Simon will ensure that every fucking penny is there. Your ass stays in the truck until I signal Dwight to bring you out.'

Now it's plain to see why both men came along, someone has to always babysit me…

'Let me make one thing clear, you do not look at your dad, talk to your dad, or even acknowledge that he fucking exists. You stay by my side like the good, little pup that you are. And don't let me hear a damn peep out of you, you understand?" He chillingly threatens.

"I understand. There won't be any problems," I reply obediently. He doesn't have to worry about a thing. I'm not going to do anything that would jeopardize any chances of going home.

I could feel the rusty truck pull off of the main highway and onto a gravel road. The worn suspension allowing us to feel every bump and jolt of the unmaintained road.

Negan suddenly slams on the brake, the forward momentum causing me to fly forward from my seat. My hands slam against the dashboard just in time.

"Look alive you sorry shits, we're here!" Negan bellows. "Well fuck, would you look at that….' 

'Damn, my bad sweetheart, forgot that you're seeing about as much as Stevie Wonder right now. Let me paint the picture for you. Daddy must be anxious to get you home because he's already here! Now, Simon and I are going to go have that chat with your father that I was telling you about. Be a good little pup for Dwight, I'll whistle for you in a minute."

The driver and passenger doors open simultaneously as both men exit the vehicle, Simon handing the chain off to Dwight before shutting the door. The crunching of the gravel under their boots along with the sound of their casual conversation fades as they walk away from the truck.

I remain in my seat, knowing not to make any sudden movements without prompting from Dwight. He hasn't uttered a word to me since his showing of genuine concern last night.

"Dwight?"

"Keep your mouth shut." His voice is stern.

"I-I just thank you for last night… I know that you didn't want to be there, that you didn't want Negan to go through with the original plan – "

My airway is partially cut off as Dwight yanks on the chain behind me, pulling me slightly out of the seat by my neck.

"Shut the fuck up! You know nothing about me. Last night was a fluke, I let my god damn guard down, something that won't happen again," he growls, increasing the pressure on the chain.

The collar tightens. My hands grasp the collar in vain attempts to loosen the strain. The burning of my lungs from the lack of air consumes me. My airway is nearly cut off completely, when Dwight releases the chain, causing me to slump down in my seat as my lungs re-inflate with valuable oxygen.

After a few moments, my breathing steadies and quiets down, allowing me to hear faint voices in the distance. Negan's booming bass carries, I'm easily able to hear his berating comments to my father, but not much else other than that.

A high-pitched whistle rings throughout the area.

Hearing the signal, Dwight unhooks the chain from the collar before climbing out of the truck. I hear the passenger door open followed by Dwight grabbing a handful of my shirt, pulling me from the vehicle. He's not gentle with me as he shoves me face first against the body of the truck to remove my blindfold.

"Come on." Dwight firmly grabs my left forearm and pulls me forward. I nearly trip over my own feet as I blindly follow him, my eyes still adjusting to the piercing sunlight.

My vision finally returns, allowing me to get a first look at the surroundings. We are in an abandoned parking lot of a rundown factory, fencing lining the perimeter. The vegetation is thickly overgrown around the fences and walls of the factory, the coarse growth appearing to crawl up the steel walls. Massive smoke stacks adorn the rusted structure.

I can see why Negan chose this location for the meet. We are in total seclusion, the property situated in the middle of a field with it's only access point being the gravel road that we just traversed. No one could possibly interrupt us.

Dwight herds me towards the three figures looming in the distance, steering me straight to Negan's side. Simon stands next to him holding a stuffed envelope with the assumed payment.

My father stands near his 1996 F150. His eye is badly bruised and near swollen shut from Negan's attack a few days ago. A few band-aids riddle his face, covering the opened wounds caused by the melee of kicks and punches.

His worried eyes immediately raise to meet mine when Dwight hands me off to Negan. I quickly look away, remembering Negan's demands on the way here.

My heart wrenches in my chest when I hear a choked sob from my father. With only a t-shirt and jeans on, he fully views the results of me being in Negan's care for the past forty-eight hours. 

My previously unblemished face is now littered with scrapes from the gravel and a swollen lip. Dark blue and purple bruises sprinkle my arms and neck from being roughly manhandled, and my frame leans at an awkward angle from the damage to my ribs. In addition to the collar around my neck, it must've looked like a terrible picture.

"S-S-Sam?" My father beckons me, tears streaming down his face. I dig my nails into the palms of my hands, aiming for the pain to distract me from my father's tearful pleas. He calls my name again when I refuse to make eye contact.

"You," Negan spits towards my father, "do not talk to her. She's still my property."

"You son-of-a-bitch! What have you done to her?!" My father screams, rushing in an emotional frenzy towards Negan.

Negan roughly grabs me by the collar, forcing me down on my knees, and raises Lucille over my head. "Pump the brakes or Lucille gets introduced to her fucking skull!" Negan roars.

The barbs linger dangerously close, lightly snagging a few strands of my hair. I stay stiff as a board to avoid accidentally deepening the contact. 

My father stops mid-stride and throws his hands up in surrender, pleading for Negan to lower the weapon. Frantically, he backs away and returns to his original position.

Negan glares at my father, his brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. It is a tense standoff with no one knowing what to do next. Simon and Dwight look to Negan for direction, but he only continues staring down my father. Lucille still too close for comfort above my head.

With an evil chuckle, Negan loosens his hold on the collar and slowly lowers Lucille back to his side.

A relieved breath escapes my lips, a breath that I didn't realize I was holding during the standoff. I watch as he struts the gap separating my father and I.

"You of all people should know that shit doesn't fly with me!' he addresses my father, angrily pointing Lucille in his direction.

'But I'm an understanding man. I'll overlook that little outburst of yours, it's an emotional moment, I get it.' Negan's eyes briefly soften, glancing back and forth between mine and my father's distraught faces. He then moves to stand directly in front of my still kneeling frame.

'You see those marks and bruises on your little girl's body? That shit wasn't my fault. She disrespected me and was rightfully punished. Hell, I did you a service by the way I treated her! Remember how disrespectful the little shit was a few days go? Not anymore! We had a lengthy lesson on respect.… It's amazing how a little tough love and the looming threat of death can whip someone into shape. Ain't that right, pup?" Negan cocks his head to the side, patiently waiting for a response.

"Yes, sir." The words are barely above a whisper from trying to thwart the frustration building within me from him acting as if he did my father and I a favor by taking me as his prisoner.

"What was that? I didn't fucking hear you." Negan kneels and cups his hand around his ear.

My inner patience snaps. I slowly raise my head and glare straight into his eyes, not even trying to disguise the level of disdain that I'm feeling. Taking a deep breath, I make sure to clearly enunciate the two-syllable phrase, maybe with a tad too much defiance added to my tone.

"Easy there, pup, don't make me break you in front of daddy. You just cashed your fucking 'one time only' outburst card. Try that shit again and see what happens…" Negan challenges through gritted teeth.

I immediately curse myself for allowing my temper to get the best of me. This isn't helping the situation any.

Negan remains fixated on me, causing me to squirm under his gaze. His posture and demeanor further reiterating the fact that he never gives empty threats, he meant every word that he said. Negan's head snaps to the side upon hearing my father timidly clear his throat.

"U-um, did I m-meet your demands? C-can I take h-her home?

Negan stands and stalks towards my father, stopping a few feet away from him. "You did a good job, Pete. I must say that I'm fucking proud of ya! This has gotten me thinking about our little arrangement….' He begins pacing in front of my father, appearing to be deep in thought.

'You see, if I let her go home with you, what's going to stop you from tucking tail and disappearing for another twenty-five god damn years? I just can't have that. Plus, it's amazing how a little 'holy shit, my daughter's fucking life is in jeopardy' lit a fire under your ass! The proof is in the pudding – without your daughter, I received no money, but with your daughter, I get fucking paid."

"W-what are you s-saying? W-we made a-a deal!" My father stutters, undeniably upset.

"Yeah, and now I'm changing the deal! I'm proposing new terms, as if you actually have a choice in the matter.' Negan chuckles. "You can have your little angel back once you pay back half of what you fucking owe me. Of course, she'll have to return to me periodically to make sure that you continue delivering on your end. I imagine that it won't take you long considering how long it took you to scrape together the measly amount for today."

"Wait, no –" I begin, but I'm quickly cut off by one rage filled glance from Negan. I tuck my head down in submission, not wanting to anger him anymore.

"As I was saying, you'll deliver a set minimum amount of cash, to be determined, to a drop-off site every week. Hell, if you want, you can get ahead on payments and put some extra money into the drop-off to help you reach your fucking goal quicker. All you have to do is make sure that the minimum amount is always paid each week."

"How am I supposed to trust that you will keep her safe? Look at her –," my father's voice grows shaky, "and that's only after a few god damn days with you!"

Negan turns in my direction. "Most of that was her own damn fault… just saying. But if it makes you feel fucking better, I'll make sure to put one of my lieutenants on guard duty when I'm not around. To ensure nobody will mess with her, trust me. I can't promise about the punishments though, that shit is entirely up to her attitude and actions. She can be a god damn handful at times…." Negan shakes his head, smirking at me.

My father steps back to lean against his truck, overwhelmed as he tries to process Negan's new demands. He runs his hands through his short hair, weighing his limited options. With my eyes still downcast, I feel the weight of my father's gaze settle on me.

"I'll do whatever it takes to keep her safe, I promise." He responds to Negan.

"Well, I'm glad to fucking hear it, Pete!" Negan slaps my father on the back, causing a pained whimper. Then he proceeds to put an arm around his shoulder. "Just to show you how happy I am, I'll even throw you a damn bone. How about for every week that you make a payment, I'll allow you one hour with your daughter, under my conditions of course. You can use the hours individually for visits or you can save them and have one big, extended visit. I'll leave that shit up to you."

"T-thank you," my father genuinely replies, taken aback my Negan's sudden generosity.

"See, I can be reasonable at times!" Negan jokes, releasing my father's shoulder.

Head still down, I spot Negan's combat boots near me. Without warning, he hoists me up by my arm, his grip tight enough to cause another ugly bruise. Negan's eyes light up when he hears my father's reaction from seeing me manhandled like that.

"Oops...I'm sorry 'bout that pup. That one is on me," he winks playfully. "It was nice doing business with ya Pete! I look forward to finally getting my fucking money. We better get moving, it's been a long damn day and it looks like my pup may be getting tired. See you next week!" With that, Negan turns and begins hauling me across the parking lot towards the truck, Simon and Dwight a few steps behind.

I turn my head back at the last second and lock eyes with my father. What I see shakes me to the core. The fire in his eyes is gone, his fight is gone. I peer into the dark depths of an empty, broken shell of a man who is at the end of his rope, utterly hopeless.

"I love you, dad!" I yell as Negan leads me away, hoping to see a flicker of hope, a flicker of anything on his face, but there is nothing.

I've barely gotten the sentence out before Simon shoves my head forward.

When we reach the truck, I have no time to react as Negan grabs a fistful of my shirt and aggressively throws me against the cab. The impact knocks the wind out of me. A harsh slap to the side of my face whips my head around, only for Negan to re-center my head just to deliver another painful blow.

"What the fuck did I tell you, huh? I thought you were smart, that you got the message. But no, you decide to defy me at the last god damn minute and not only look at your father, but also speak to him?' His words are barely registering with me, my mind foggy from the hits.

'You’re a real piece of work pup! A real dumb piece-of-shit that thinks it's fucking okay to defy me in front of your father, well think again! This new arrangement isn't going to start well for you, darlin…"

My cheek is still throbbing from the first few slaps as Negan's fist swings forward for the third shot. Bam - The world goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Spitfire47.
> 
> What are you thoughts on the update? What could be in store for Sam now that she is stuck with Negan for a little while longer? I'd love to hear from you guys!


	10. Chapter 10

A blinding white light floods my vision. I feel very dizzy and disoriented as the sound of a muffled voice fills my ears.

"Can you hear me?" An unknown voice asks.

My eyes adjust to see a tall, lanky, slightly aged gentleman kneeling before me. He is adorned in a white lab coat with a stethoscope around his neck. A doctor? What's going on?

I muster a slight nod in response to his previous question. A quick glance around reveals that I'm back in Negan's room, my battered body laying on my designated bed. I'm shocked to notice that I am not chained to the bed frame. 

Dwight is leaning against Negan's dresser, attentively guarding my limited movements. I attempt to sit up but am immediately overwhelmed by dizziness, causing the room to spin off kilter. The man gently coaxes me back down.

"Take it easy, you took a nasty lick to your noggin. More than likely suffered a concussion," he states dryly. Again, shining a penlight into my eyes to examine my current condition. "I'm Dr. Carson."

A replay of events flash through my mind – the meeting with my dad, Negan changing the terms, and the beating afterwards…. That accounts for the blackout and severe disorientation. It must have been one hell-of-a hit from Negan for me to still be feeling it's affects.

"Ho-how long was I-I out?"

"Couple hours, long enough for Negan to get you back here and to contact me. I've already assessed your other injuries." Dr. Carson explained, as he motions towards my body.

It's then that I notice that my right arm is now secured tightly against my body in a sling, ice packs are loosely wrapped against my ribs, and there are multiple bandages covering various wounds and scrapes on my body.

"From my examination, it appears that you have several cracked ribs, a concussion, a dislocated shoulder, deep tissue bruising, and several contusions and abrasions of varying degrees of severity. Stitches were required to close a wound on your cheek, my guess is from a well-placed punch. I'm floored that you were still functioning with as many injuries as you had." The doctor shakes his head in disbelief.

His verdict only confirms my original beliefs – I've been thrashed within an inch of my life from my time here at the Sanctuary.

A stabbing, surge of pain radiates through my body when I try to readjust myself on the bed. The aches and pains that I had previously felt pale in comparison to what I'm experiencing now. With my adrenaline now worn off, I can register every tortured sensation from my head to my toes. Burning tears freely fall as the pain consumes me.

Seeing my immense discomfort, the doctor turns to Dwight. "Go get the pain meds that are in my truck; they're much stronger than the ones that I brought upstairs with me."

"Negan said no meds. Let her suffer for a bit, then she'll learn." Dwight spits.

"I know what Negan said, but I'm the trained physician. Negan wants her coherent and alive, right? Well, get me the meds. The painkillers will incapacitate her and give her body the necessary time to heal itself. Makes for a faster recovery."

Dwight ponders this for a moment before storming out of the room to retrieve the materials, leaving the doctor and I unattended.

Dr. Carson reaches into a medical bag next to him and pulls out more adhesive bandages, gauze, various antibiotic creams, and other medical supplies. "I'll leave enough of these to get you through until the next time I see you.' He mumbles, not even bothering to make eye contact as he places the items on a nearby side-table. After a moment of silence, he releases a deep sigh.

'I'm so sorry this has happened to you Sam, but, Negan will take care of you. He needs to, to ensure that your father pays up, but it doesn't have to be this way. All you have to do is kneel. Submit to his commands, it doesn't matter how you feel about them, just do as he tells you – I just pray that it's not too late for you. You're going to get yourself killed if you keep pushing him beyond his limits. He's capable of so much worse; trust me, I've seen what he can do…." He appears to zone out, recollecting the horrors of what he has seen.

I remain silent at his words. Should I kneel to his commands? My common sense undoubtedly screams 'yes'; he's an unpredictable psychopath who will do anything to meet his own agenda. 

In the heat of the moment, when his hands are around my throat or when Lucille is looming over my head, I'll say or do whatever it takes to survive. Whether it's echoing a 'yes sir' or simply shutting my mouth, I know in those moments that it is not the time to go against Negan.

But, it's the moments when I let my emotions take the front seat that I show a little too much 'spunk' for his liking. Who am I kidding, my emotions haven't just taken the front seat, they've highjacked the controls and are going on a joyride. Destination – the serrated blade of my knife being driven through Negan's skull…. As if I would ever get the chance….

The threat of death on me or my father seems to be the only thing that cues my conscious to take the reins once more. It's a blessing too; my emotions would've gotten us killed from the get-go.

As much as it pains me to admit, I do fear him – not so much for what he could possibly do to me, but because of what he can, and possibly will do to my father if I don't get my shit together. If anything, I need to keep things together for his sake. Negan already has him under his complete control. It would be the final nail in the coffin for my father to see me as emotionally and mentally defeated as he is. One of us must stay strong….

Dwight returns carrying a plastic bag of prescriptions, with a gleaming Negan on his heels. Negan struts over and halts next to the doctor, playfully smacking him on the shoulder. "So, what's the verdict doc? How fucked up is my pup?"

Dr. Carson shrinks at Negan's rough contact. "Um, she has a few significant injuries – cracked ribs, a concussion, and a dislocated shoulder along with multiple contusions. I reset the shoulder and patched up what I could, now she needs rest, food, and medication, lots of it."

Negan lets out an astounded whistle. "Jesus fucking Christ, I didn't realize that I rang your bell that hard!" He laughs at me before turning back to Dr. Carson. "That's some damn fine work you did here, doc, I appreciate it. Now, I normally wouldn't allow the pain meds, the little shit deserves to feel the repercussions of her actions. However, I did just promise that I would make an effort to treat her better, since I'm such a caring individual." Negan appears to sincerely believe his statement.

Unsure of how to respond, Dr. Carson slowly nods his head in acknowledgment. He reaches into the bag that Dwight handed him and pulls out two pill bottles. Two little, white pills are given to me, which I take without hesitation. He hands the bottle to Negan. "These should speed her recovery. It's a strong enough dosage to where you only have to administer two once a day.' He redirects his attention to me.

'What you need right now is sleep, the medication will help you do that. Sleep allows your body to naturally heal itself. You'll probably be incapacitated for a few days, but that should give your body adequate time to begin healing."

"Hot damn, this makes my fucking job a lot easier! I won't have to worry about a thing with your ass high as a fucking kite." Negan claps his hands in delight.

I barely register his statement, the medication already beginning to take affect. My eyes grow heavy as a wave of drug-induced bliss floods me.

"Nighty-night, pup...," Negan's hazy voice sounds miles away. Everything relaxes and slowly fades to black.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I faded in and out of consciousness for the next few days. My medicated dreams and reality blurred together. I vaguely recall Dwight waking me on occasions to give me another dose of painkillers or to take me to the bathroom. It was never long before the heavy veil of sleep enveloped me once again. There were even times when I thought I imagined him giving me food or changing my bandages, but I may have dreamt that… There is no way of knowing for sure. Did Dr. Carson return to see me….? Or did I dream that too…?

"Hey!" I hear a voice echo in the distance through my drug-induced fog. What is going on?

"Helloooooo?" It sounds closer this time, accompanied with a rough shake.

"Wake the fuck up!"

My eyes slowly open to find Dwight standing over me holding a glass of water.

"You coherent enough to drink this on you own?"

I nod my head and shakily reach my left arm up to retrieve the glass. It's not until the liquid reaches my lips that I notice how parched I really am. I've nearly downed the whole glass when Dwight snatches it out of my hand.

"That's enough for now." He places the glass on Negan's nightstand. "You need to take a piss or anything?"

I shake my head. What I really need is more water… but I don't dare ask for more.

"What day is it?" My voice cracks from being out of use for a few days. I twist my neck as much as the chain would allow to peak at the clock. 4:42 PM.

"Friday. You've been in and out for a week."

A week? Dr. Carson said that it would only be a few days! There is no way that I had been out for that long….

Seeing my disbelief, Dwight pulls out his cell phone and shows me the date. Sure enough, it's Friday.

"Doc came by a few days ago and said that you needed more time to rest or some shit like that. It took some convincing for Negan but he finally agreed to keep you under for a few more days." Dwight explains.

Thank God, he was able to sway Negan to give me more time. I must admit there was a noticeable difference in how I'm feeling. My head is no longer throbbing out of my skull, there is only a dull ache from my shoulder, and the pain from my ribs is bearable. I move my extremities, testing their mobility and pain levels. Every muscle is stiff from being immobile for an extended period. Besides that, the medication and rest worked its magic.

After helping me into a sitting position, Dwight leaves momentarily and brings back a bowl of vegetable soup. You would think that I would be eager to eat something after consuming near nothing for over a week, but I instantly felt nauseated when he hands me the bowl. Probably a side effect from the high dosage of medication trying to pass out of my system. I stare blankly at the floating veggies and broth, making no move to eat.

"Eat," Dwight sternly orders. His tone alone is enough for me to reluctantly pick up the spoon and begin eating. He waits until I've ingested a few spoonfuls of soup before resuming to mindlessly scrolling through his cell phone.

It's not until I've forced down nearly half of the bowl that Dwight is satisfied and returns the bowl to the kitchen.

"Negan will be pleased to see you're awake," he states when he re-enters the bedroom.

"Where is he?"

"None of your damn business. You just need to know that he'll be back sometime tonight." He turns to walk back out but stops and glances towards me. "Holler if you need to take a piss, don't need you messing up the man's floor. I'll be close."

With that, I'm left alone in Negan's room. It doesn't feel like I've been here a whole week. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all that Negan decided to call in the doctor. If it weren't for that, it's no telling how torturous the week would've been.

Wait... I've been here a week – that means today is the day when dad is supposed to make the next payment. That's where Negan is!

I can't help but feel uneasy knowing that my father will be alone with Negan and his men. What if something goes wrong? What if Negan decides to change the terms again? It didn't stop him last week… Please God, don't let anything happen.

I try my best to fight off the nagging need for more sleep, the medication must not be fully out of my system yet. My eyelids finally drift close when a familiar whistle instantly causes them to fling open.

"Dwight told me that you were awake but it looks like Sleeping-fucking-Beauty is trying to conk out on me again!" Negan stands at the doorway to the bedroom with a wide grin on his face.

My breath hitches in my throat and my eyes widen in shock as Negan steps into the room, allowing me to fully see him. 

Blood is splattered over nearly every inch of his clothing. His previously tan pants are now covered in crimson streaks that run up and down both legs. My eyes follow a trail of blood that begins on his jacket and travels up his chest, over his previous white shirt, and finishes with a spray of blood on his face.

It's then that I notice the blood drenched weapon in his hand. Lucille's dark brown finish now appears dyed red from nearly end-to-end. Her barbed wrapping now glistens in the light from its liquid covering, instead of from it's metallic finish. Tendrils of blood dribbled from the barbs and pooling onto the ground.

Bile rises from the depths of my stomach when my eyes spot what appears to be pieces of flesh lodged into the barbed crevices of the bat.

Wait, no…. That can't be….? He was just supposed to meet with my dad. But why else would he be covered in blood…? H-he killed my dad.

"No, no, no, no -," I mindlessly repeat. Salty tears cascade down my cheeks like a flowing river, soaking the front of my shirt. I clutch my arm around my trembling frame as if to hold together the last piece of my crumbling strength. My body shudders as another guttural wail leaves me.

"Woah, woah, woah. What the fuck is going on?" Negan raises his hands and backs away from me, thrown off by my extreme overflow of emotions.

"Y-you…ki-killed… him." I painfully choke, the words catching in my chest.

"The hell you talking about?" Negan is stunned and puzzled by my accusation. "Ohhh shit. You think that I," he raises Lucille and makes a swinging motion, 'to your papa? Darlin, I've knocked a few skulls around today, as you can see, but I can assure you that none of this shit on me belongs to your father."

His words mean absolutely nothing to me. He's threatened my father time after time, and now I'm supposed to believe that he didn't harm him when he's covered in blood after having met with my father?

"You bastard! You killed him!" I cry at the top of my lungs. I can practically envision Lucille slamming down on the back of my father's skull and the blood bursting out in all directions as Negan delivers blow after blow… The blood, the gore, and the devil himself standing over what is left of my father.… Carson was right. I should've knelt when I had the chance. He tried to warn me but it was too late.

"Now, wait just a fucking minute! I told you that I didn't lay a damn finger on your father." Negan retorts. He's visibly upset that I don't believe his statements. "God fucking dammit, fine!" 

Reaching into his back pocket, he retrieves his cell phone, quickly punches a few buttons, and places the phone to his ear.

"What up, shit brain? You miss me? Listen, please talk some sense into your fucking daughter. She thinks that I fed your ass to Lucille. Crazy, huh? Why would she ever think that I would do something like that?"

Negan, in all his blood-clad glory, kneels next to me and puts the phone on speaker.

"Sam?" My father's gentle voice fills my ears.

Tears fall once again upon hearing him, but this time, they are tears of overwhelming relief. Just moments ago, I had convinced myself that I would never hear from him again.

"D-dad? I thought y-you were dead… I-I saw the b-blood and th-thought –" I can't even finish my sentence before the sobbing overwhelms me again.

"Hey, hey – I'm okay, baby. Nothing happened, he didn't hurt me. Don't cry, sweetie, please don't cry. I promised you that I would do whatever it took to keep you safe, and I will. I love you, Sam, and I will get you out of this, I promise.' My father's voice waivers on the other line. I hear an occasional sniffle.

'Just do one thing for me, baby – stay strong, stay who you are. Do whatever it takes to survive. I know this is hard, but we have to do what it takes.' The line momentarily goes silent. I begin to fear that the call got dropped until I hear my father softly crying in the background.

'I-I'm sorry, baby. It was my battle to fight, but I couldn't do it… I'm so sorry, Sam." He breaks down, openly weeping on the other end. Together, we are a blubbering mess of tears and snot.

Before I have a chance to respond, Negan angles the phone closer to himself. "Sorry, Pete, but I have to cut this little love-fest short. If ya keep doing what you're doing, maybe I'll allow a few extra minutes next time. You did good today, getting me my money and all. I believe this is the start of a beautiful friendship!" He leans in closer to me. "Now, be a good pup and tell daddy 'bye'."

"Goodbye, daddy. I love you…"

"I love you too, baby. Stay strong and never forget, 'JSS'."

Click – the line is dead.

"Damn, pup, The Notebook has nothing on you and your pops! I swear, that was the sappiest shit I've ever heard. If I wasn't such a cold-hearted, son of a bitch, that maybe would've caused my face to leak with tears!" Negan lets out an exhausted sigh as he gathers a clean change of clothes and goes to take a shower.

Even after he leaves the room, I remain motionless on the floor as my father's final words echo in my mind. 

'JSS' – just survive somehow. 

Something that he always drilled into my mind, that no matter how dreadful or bleak things seem, you have to 'just survive somehow.' Do whatever it takes to make it through to the other end alive.

I remember when he first spoke that to me. I was only eight years old and my mother had passed away. She was a victim in a DUI accident. Our world was shattered in two. To him, she was his soulmate, his one and only, his reason for life. To me, she was the most caring person that I knew, had a heart of gold, and full of unconditional love.

When she was taken from us, we were lost. We didn't know how to move on without her. In the beginning, dad didn't know what he was doing. He never expected to be a single father with an eight-year-old daughter. Even with working two jobs, he was barely able to make ends meet. I can recall many nights when he would go without dinner to ensure that I had enough to eat. 

As much as he tried to shield me from it, I knew what was going on. I saw him struggling – I heard his prayers to God at night for an income that would mean we would never have to ration our limited food supply. I saw the sorrow in his eyes when he would look at me and see a mirror image of my mother and have the daily reminder that she is gone.

When times would get tough, he would wrap me in his arms and say, "Don't worry, baby girl, we're going to get through this. Just survive somehow… We'll get through this." 

'JSS' – It stuck. It became our mantra from that point forward. Together, we would find a way to make it through whatever life threw our way.

I don't know how exactly I'm going to make it through my time here at the Sanctuary. But, one thing is for certain, I'm going to just survive somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Spitfire47.
> 
> Any thoughts? Have a safe Memorial Day weekend!


	11. Chapter 11

After the conversation with my dad, I made an effort to keep my head down and mouth shut for the next few days. My timid voice was only heard to mutter a satisfactory 'yes sir' or 'no sir' to whatever Negan asked of me, which wasn't much.

He oddly hasn't berated me or threatened me after witnessing my emotional breakdown. Hell, he has barely uttered a sentence longer than four or five words. You would think that a restrained Negan would be a pleasant change, but it only made me more uneasy. I had never witnessed Negan being anything besides his talkative, brash self, so the sudden muteness raised a few eyebrows.

He spent most of his time downstairs with his crew, trusting either Simon or Dwight to keep a watchful eye on me during the day. With nothing to do to keep me occupied, the days painfully dragged on with the same routine.

Negan would wake up and begin his morning routine at the crack of dawn. It wouldn't be long before a rough shake would wake me so that he could change my few bandages. The wounds have healed enough to where I'm more than capable of changing them myself, but he insists on doing them. I knew at the time not to argue.

After they were complete, I was allowed a trip to the bathroom before being re-attached to the chain. Once Negan left for the day, Simon or Dwight would check on me periodically and bring me food. Still weak from the lingering affects of the medications, all I could do was sleep and rest until I regained my strength. Negan wouldn't return until late in the evening. Exhausted from a full day on the main floor, he would quickly shower, eat, and pass out for the night. The cycle repeated the next day.

It took two days of rest and refueling to regain enough strength to be able to get up and walk under my own power.

Once I regained my strength, I would absentmindedly pace the spacious apartment for hours – the freedom to do so a reward from Negan for good behavior. I still had to wear the collar, but it sure beat sitting on my ass for the entire day. Simon and Dwight typically wouldn't pay me any mind, spending most of their time doing paperwork or making 'business' calls. It's not like they had to worry about me trying to escape my fortified prison.

I hated the constant downtime that I had at my disposal. Being restricted to one particular place with my only socialization being with Negan, Simon, and Dwight equates to myself slowly losing my mind. With nothing to keep me engaged, my train of thought continuously rolled down the tracks of my mind. I repeatedly kept replaying the events of the past few weeks, scouring every detail to see if any of this could have been avoided.

What if dad had fought back more…? What if I had controlled my temper the first night…? What if I had found an opportunity to use my pocket knife and ended Negan when I had the chance…?

I'm practically driving myself insane! Its no use in pondering the 'what ifs' because it was always going to end this way. One thing that I've learned in a short amount of time is that Negan always wins. No matter what we did, or didn't do, Negan was always going to get what he wanted, whether that resulted in the current situation or something far worse.

It only took two days of being on my feet, practically traversing every square foot of the apartment while my mind fought an inner battle, for me to break down and go to Negan.

"Is there anything that I can do during the day, to pass the time while you're gone?" I finally mustered the courage to ask when he was changing my bandages one morning.

It takes him a moment to realize that I had spoken. "What?" He momentarily stops winding the adhesive around my wrist and raises his questioning eyes to meet mine.

"While you're gone, all there is to do is walk back and forth through your apartment to pass the time…. Please, is there something that I can do to keep myself occupied before I drive myself crazy?"

He sights in annoyance. "Damn, I already miss when your ass was knocked out from the meds. There was no need to keep you fucking entertained."

Negan directs his attention back to my wrists. Conversation now dropped. No word on the topic is uttered as he finishes up, grabs his leather jacket and Lucille, and abruptly leaves for downstairs.

I reach over and hurl the box of bandages and gauze across the room in frustration. What the hell was that? That was probably the most civil and level-headed that I have been with him my entire time here, and he didn't even consider it.

After that failed attempt, it looks like 'JSS' will be used to survive another day of my mundane routine of nothingness.

There's no need to dwell on his decision, or lack thereof. I shuffle to where the tossed box landed and put that, along with the rest of the supplies, back in the container before beginning the next part of my routine of freshening up.

Returning from the bathroom, I walk over to Negan's dresser and slide open the bottom drawer in search for a t-shirt. Negan was gracious enough to give me one drawer to store my clothes, the space much needed after he allowed my father to send me extra clothes to suffice until I came home.

Washington Redskins t-shirt? No.

Finn Bálor t-shirt? Not feeling it.

I toss a few more shirts to the side until I spot the gray cotton fabric with red block letters lined with a black border.

'TU' – Terminus University.

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. I snatch the shirt out of the drawer and rush over to Negan's nightstand where his clock is situated, displaying the date and time. One look at today's date confirms my fear – I'm supposed to return to school in two days to begin my sophomore year.

Fuck! School has been the last thing on my mind since being captive and the escalation of following events. What am I going to do? The university will surely question my absence if I don't show up on move-in day or the first day of classes. But Negan said that I can't leave until dad pays half of what he owes...

Conclusion: I'm neck deep up shit creek with my mouth wide open.

I put on the shirt, careful not to snag the collar in the process. The shirt serves as a mental note to attempt to discuss the issue with Negan later.

"Morning, princess!" Simon greets me when I enter the living area. He's comfortably seated on one of the leather sofas with his feet propped up on the coffee table. Today must be his shift to babysit me.

"Hey, Simon."

Unlike Dwight, Simon makes an effort to speak to me from time to time, even cracking the occasional joke. Now, we don't have in-depth discussions on the meaning of life, but his sporadic charm does a lot to lift the otherwise dry atmosphere.

I grab a banana from the large fruit bowl on the counter and unenthusiastically plop into a chair at the small kitchen table. My thoughts already begin to wander as I once again begin my monotonous daily routine.

My train of thought abruptly hits the brakes as the sound of Simon snapping his fingers gets my attention. His face lights up in remembrance as he hurriedly stands to his feet and nears the door to the lower level. "Don't move a fucking muscle, kid. Got a surprise for ya."

I'm still silently processing Simon's actions when he returns to the apartment a few minutes later. In his hands is a large laundry basket overflowing with soiled garments. He plops the container down at my feet, causing a loose sock or two to fall out.

I stare in confusion back and forth between the basket and Simon's amused grin.

"Special delivery from the boss! Said you needed some options to keep your pretty, little ass busy. Don't worry, darlin', there's plenty that you can do. But Negan figured you could start with his laundry. Apparently, the man is running out of clean undies." Simon leans down and whispers, as if sharing important intel.

"You can't be serious?" The bastard was listening after all. I know that I had asked for something to do, but doing the man's laundry…? Really?

The glint of playfulness in Simon's eyes turn dark. He contorts his face into various scowls, leaning and twisting his head to match them. It was as if he was attempting to communicate with solely his facial features.

"I think my look may have conveyed the answer to your question; people say I have an expressive face." He proceeds to point towards his face. "But, if not, let me repeat your question. 'Am I fucking serious?' – yes, yes I am. You wanted some shit to do?" Simon picks up the basket and shoves it toward me. "Well, here ya go, sweet cheeks!"

I nearly drop the container as the full weight of it and its contents is felt. My body is noticeably weaker than I thought from the week-long coma. I peer down into the basket and nearly vomit when I see Negan's blood soaked clothes from earlier in the week bunched-up at the top of the pile.

Simon can't help but chuckle at my reaction. Placing a hand on my shoulder, he guides me past Negan's room and towards a closed door at the end of the hallway. He opens it to reveal a closet-sized space barely large enough to fit the washer and dryer situated inside. A shelving unit sits above the machines, holding the detergent, dryer sheets, and stain removers.

It is a tight squeeze to fit myself and the oversized basket in the few feet between the front of the units and the back wall.

"I'll leave ya to it. Oh yeah, just in case you're wondering, there is more where that came from." He sends a quick wink before returning down the hall towards the living area.

Negan obviously approved my request. I just had to open my big mouth.

XXXXXX

By 3 PM, I had only finished washing and drying three loads of laundry, only equating to half of the basket.

So far, I've had to wash his blood-stained pants and shirt, shirts caked in sweat and unknown stains, and countless pairs of boxers that no one should have to physically handle. I've gone through so much stain remover that Simon had to send a lackey into town to retrieve more. I don't even want to imagine what stains and stenches wait for me in the remaining laundry.

I'm utterly exhausted as I carry the latest load of clean laundry into the living area to be folded. Every muscle fiber screams in agony from doing too much too quickly. I haphazardly drop the basket onto the sofa and take the initiative to flop down on the cushion right beside it. Finally able to take a breath, I allow my worn body to sink into the leather upholstered bliss of the sofa.

"You ask for shit to do and then I find you sleeping on the fucking job! Tsk, tsk, tsk…."

I was so exhausted that I failed to notice a lounging Negan slumped in an armed chair across from me. I'm not sure how long he's been there, but there is an empty glass on the table by his side.

It's unlike him to be upstairs at this time of day.

"I- uh- was just taking a little break, sir, that's all." I quickly sit up and reach into the basket for an article of clean clothing that needs folding. Of course, he would witness the one moment of the day when I attempted to catch a breather after running at full-speed all day.

"Whatever, just don't fuck up my clothes."

Negan grabs the empty glass and returns to the kitchen for a refill.

"You want a swig?" He comes from behind me and shoves the topped-off glass under my nose.

My head immediately whips in the opposite direction as my nostrils burn from the aroma of the potent liquid. He only follows the direction of my nose, keeping the glass directly beneath it wherever I turn my head.

Negan allows the glass to linger a few more torturous beats before bringing it to his lips and taking a swig himself.

"I've never met a woman who doesn't enjoy a nice shot of whisky ever now and again," he states in awe. Gazing at me in fascination as he re-situates in his chair.

"Well, I guess I'm nothing like the women that you've met.…"

"I wouldn't know, darlin'. You haven't necessarily been too fucking keen on sharing anything about yourself. You've been here for almost two-damn-weeks and all that I've wrestled out of you is your name, which is now irrelevant, considering I renamed you the first night…' I hear him snicker to himself when he sees my body tense at the mentioning of the infamous first night.

'Come on, now. I want to know more about my pup," he practically whines.

I have no interest in participating in his little game. Instead, I fold the last piece of laundry, pick up the basket, and turn to head towards Negan's room to put them away. "Gotta go put your clothes away. I don't want to fuck them up."

Negan reaches out and grabs my arm before I can walk away.

"The clothes can wait. Sit your ass down and drop the fucking attitude. Now," he commands.

Sensing his rising temper, I obediently place the basket on the floor and take a seat across from him. "What do you want to know?" I give in and ask.

"Hmm… I don't know where to fucking begin!" He taps his chin while deep in thought. "Let's start off easy. How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Damn, baby girl. I'm old enough to be your fucking daddy! Can you imagine that? I don't know, 'daddy Negan' has a nice ring to it."

Of course, the bastard found a way to make this awkward after only the first question. "Do you have another question or are you satisfied now?" Anything to change the subject.

"Okay, Ms. Impatient. What do you like to do for fun?"

"I don't know… I spend most of my free time reading or watching sports."

I jump as Negan nearly keels over in laughter. "Let me guess, by 'watching sports', you mean ignoring the actual game because you're too busy eye-fucking the hot guys in tight uniforms?"

Now I'm the one with the shit-eating grin adorned on my face. Oh, he doesn't realize who he is talking to.

"First off, I only really follow football and professional wrestling. Second, the athletes may look fine as hell in their spandex and tight wrestling trunks, but a pretty face is useless in sports if they can't deliver when it comes to talent and ability.' I explain.

'Don't let this pretty face fool you, I've been watching those sports since kindergarten. I can breakdown the names, positions, and stats of practically every player of the Washington Redskins. You wanna talk playoff predictions or compare offensive and defensive match-ups for any of the NFL's 32 teams? I gotcha covered.'

'Wondering how professional wrestling has evolved in the past decade in various promotions such as World Wrestling Entertainment, Ring of Honor, New Japan Pro Wrestling, and Impact Wrestling? Well, you better take some notes because this is going to be a long discussion."

For the first time since my arrival, Negan is speechless. His mouth hangs open in pure amazement of my knowledge of sports.

"My oh my, you are something else! You're a rare breed indeed. I've seen a fair share of women in my life and I've never stumbled across one as unique as you. What other surprises is there to know about you?" Negan leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, his full attention on me.

It's then that he glances down and notices my t-shirt. "Holy shit, that's right – you go to Terminus!"

Here is my opening. There is no better time than the present to attempt to negotiate my freedom in order to fulfill obligations pertaining to my education.

"Yes, sir. About that… can I ask you a question?"

"I'm all ears, darlin', ask away."

"Well, like you noticed, I attend TU. I'm actually about to start my sophomore year and um, uh –"

"Spit it the fuck out already," Negan impatiently interrupts.

"I'm supposed to return to campus in two days to begin the school year. My tuition and fees have already been paid, so I can't back out now. Will you allow me to go?"

Negan doesn't need an extra second to contemplate his response.

"No."

I'm caught off guard by his nonchalant response.

"No? What do you mean, 'no'? Why the fuck not?" My tone unintentionally rises more and more in frustration after each word.

"Because, I fucking said so!" He barks in my face, promptly shutting me down. "I don't give a rat's ass where you're supposed to be in two days. You know where you're going to be? At the fucking Sanctuary! You wanna know for how long? Until I get half of my god damn money from your pathetic father."

"They're going to notice that I'm gone!" I'm hoping that this piece of information will sway his decision. He can't just keep me here forever; I do have a life.

A soft chuckle leaves Negan as he leans back into his seat, his arms folded behind his head. "There you go again, doubting my abilities. Honey, no one is going to bat an eyelash at your absence. I've already taken care of that, courtesy of your precious father.'

'Daddy brought up the same fucking issue at our last meet. He begged and pleaded for me to release you in order for you to go back to school. You leaving my side before I receive my money? That's a risk I'm not willing to take.' He pauses, then his signature smirk appeared.

'Did you know that a student can be medically excused from classes for as long that is needed? Hell, all you need is a doctor's note along with a few papers signed by the right fucking people. It's times like this when it's nice having a doctor at your disposal. You should be happy, Carson spun a nice story detailing why you can't return to the university just yet. I think it was something about a car accident… or fire… who fucking cares. All that matters is that no one is going to come looking for you, pup."

I can't believe it. This is worse than I thought. I knew that Negan had a lot of pull, but I never would have fathomed that his level of power expanded beyond the people of the Sanctuary. I mean, the man just legitimately doctored a believable excuse that will keep me out of college until he's ready to let me go. What more is he capable of doing…?

"Why the long face, pup? I figured that you would be fucking ecstatic to know that your summer vacation has been extended! How about a 'thank you' for all of my hard work to give you more time here with me?" He practically orders. "I'll even leave you the fuck alone so you can get back to work, but only after you say those two magic little words."

"Thank you, sir." I mutter through clenched teeth, frustrated tears spilling down my cheeks.

Negan soaks in the view of my dejected form for a few more seconds before waving me off to finish my chores. I'm out of the room, basket in hand, before Negan has an opportunity to change his mind.

I wait until I'm in Negan's room and safely out of sight before breaking down once again. I slump into a heap on the floor, tears freely flowing at this point. Does it upset me that I can't return to TU right away? Yes. But what worries me the most is that Negan has enough pull to allow for that to happen without any red flags to go off within the university.

If he can so easily bypass the system when it comes to getting what he wants, what more is he capable of? Who else does he have wrapped around his little finger that he could call up anytime to assist in any particular issue? Negan is more than one person… he's everywhere….

I'm dying to get into bed after sorting, washing, drying, and putting away over six loads of laundry. By the time Negan enters the bedroom with his nightly glass of whisky, I've already changed into my pajamas and am patiently waiting on my bed for him to attach the familiar chain to my collar.

Placing the glass on the nightstand, he bends down and snaps the chain into place around my neck.

Before I have an opportunity to lay down, Negan grabs the glass and once again shoves it under my nose. My eyes instantly begin to water from the burn of the alcoholic aroma. This time, I am unable to move my head away with the chain holding my neck securely in place. He finally lets me go after a brief struggle.

"What the hell is your problem when it comes to this shit?" He genuinely asks upon seeing another one of my strong adverse reactions to alcohol. "You have me fucking puzzled. You're a nineteen-year-old college student who can't even stomach the smell of whisky, let alone the taste of it."

I'm still regaining my composure as I contemplate how, or even if, I want to answer his question. Answering the vague questions hurled at me earlier in the day was one thing, but this is too personal.

"I told you, I just don't like to drink." My eyes stayed glued to the floor.

Negan reaches down and tightly grabs my chin, forcing my head up to meet his piercing gaze. "Don't you fucking lie to me, pup. Answer the damn question."

As hard as I try, I know that I can't keep this from him any longer. He would find out the truth soon enough. I slowly nod my head, causing Negan to release his grasp.

"My mother was killed by a drunk driver when I was young…. I've never had a drink in my life and the smell of one makes my insides churn." The words are barely above a whisper. A sole tear descends my face.

Negan's demeanor immediately softens. He runs a hand through his hair, visibly regretting asking the question in the first place.

"Fuck, darlin', I'm sorry. I had no idea…."

I only nod my head in response. My breath hitches in my throat as a sudden sob rips through me. The wounds of losing my mother are still as fresh as ever even though it has been over ten years since she was taken from us.

"Why did she have to go…?" The question directed to no one in particular. I openly weep, tucking my head in between my knees. "I wasn't ready to say goodbye."

"Shhh, shhh. It's okay, darlin'." Negan soothes. He must've gotten in the floor with me because the next thing I know, I feel his arms wrap around my trembling frame. I don't shrink away from the contact, but I allow him to embrace me.

We sit there for what feels like hours – him gently rubbing my back. Negan mumbles the occasional 'it's okay' or 'let it out' as the pent-up frustration, sorrow, and grief of my mother's passing resurfaces and tears its way through my body like a storm.

I begin to stir in Negan's arms after crying nearly every tear that I possibly could. He slowly releases me and backs away. There's a noticeable tear-soaked splotch on his shirt from where he was holding me.

"Don't worry about," he says, directing towards the stain. "I'll just add it to the laundry for you to do next time."

I can't help but offer a smirk at his remark.

Negan grabs his glass and saunters over to a potted plant in the corner of the room. "Drink up, my friend." The remaining liquid soaks into the soil of the blooming plant.

He turns and sees my floored expression.

"What? I've had enough of that shit for today anyway." He remarks.

Maybe he does have a heart after all….

"Um, thanks for that. I don't know what go into me. It just hit me all of a sudden." I'm suddenly too embarrassed to make eye contact with him.

"Don't mention it, darlin', Believe it or not, I know what it's like to lose someone very near and dear to your heart. That shit cuts deep…" Now Negan is the one to grow silent as he zones out. I swear that I spot a few tears slip from his downcast eyes.

He quickly wipes his face with the back of his hand. "Shit, look at what you're doing to me. I need to get some sleep."

With that, I wiggle underneath my covers, careful to not tangle the chain, and wait for Negan to turn off the light.

"Since I was such an ass tonight, I figured I would share some good news with you – your papa has been doing such a phenomenal job that I'm allowing you a visit with him tomorrow!' He leans down and ruffles my hair in excitement before climbing into bed.

'Get some rest, tomorrow is going to be a big day! G'night, pup."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Spitfire47.
> 
> What do you guys think of the update? Any thoughts? I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

_Bump!_

My body jostles against Negan as he speeds down the gravel road leading to the factory – the location for today's visit with my dad. Even with my eyes covered, courtesy of the usual blindfold, I can tell that he is intentionally hitting every bump and hole in the road, each one causing me to smash against him once again.

My childhood dirt bike rode smoother than the suspension in this rust-bucket….

Negan chose to drive his 'vintage' '78 Chevy Silverado instead of his usual truck. He wanted to 'change things up a bit.' He hit the nail on the head if 'vintage' meant a truck with both side-mirrors practically hanging off, a tailgate that refused to stay closed, cracked windshield, tires that are nearly dry-rotted, and rust practically turning the front and rear bumpers into a crumbling mess. Hell, it doesn't even have seat belts - they supposedly 'wrinkle his jacket.' It's amazing the vehicle has stayed together this long.

I've just repositioned myself back into my seat when the front-end of the truck violently drops into a pothole deep enough to cause the undercarriage of the truck to grind against the road. The momentum sends me sprawling across his lap. Negan instantly stops the truck as I blindly push off anything in my reach to sit myself up as quickly as possible.

"Woah there, darlin'. If ya wanted to sit on my lap that bad, all you had to do was fucking ask. I aim to please," he snickers. I feel his hands brush my back as he pulls off the steering wheel to give me room to move.

With one hand gripped on the dash, pulling me up, and the other pushing off his thigh. I'm finally able to fling to my end of the cab and as far from Negan as possible.

"If you 'aim to please', you can start by learning how to drive. I swear, I've had smoother rides hitting speed bumps at thirty miles an hour.…"

"If it's a wild ride that you want.…"

"Don't!" I interrupt, knowing exactly where he was going with this. "Just, how long until we get there?"

"Half hour or so," Negan replies as he continues to drive. "Now, listen the fuck up. I want to make sure that you hear and understand every damn word that I'm about to say, since someone appeared to not have been listening when I explained my expectations the last fucking time we met with daddy.' The disapproval is evident in Negan's voice, eluding to when I openly defied him and spoke to my father at the last meet.

'I imagine you'll think twice before pulling another stunt like that after the ass whopping you got! Anyways, your daddy earned three hours of visitation for three successful payments, pending today's payment. He decided to use two hours and save the third hour for next time. You two can laugh, cry, hug, I don't give a shit. Just know that you still fucking answer to me. Try to give me any lip in front of your father and I will shut your fucking little family reunion down and drag you out of his arms by your collar like the pup that you are. We fucking clear?"

"Yes, sir."

I can honestly say that Negan doesn't have to worry about me trying anything. The 'ass whopping' was enough to show me that he wouldn't hesitate to beat me within an inch of my life again, even for the tiniest transgressions.

The truck slows to a stop after what felt like hours on the gravel road. Negan jumps out of the cab, causing the entire vehicle to rock back and forth.

My ears perk up when I hear the crunching of gravel outside of the passenger door.

_Creeeeaaakkk_ – the rusted hinges of the beat-up Chevy protest as the door being flung open. "Showtime, pup!" A calloused hand encircles my forearm and guides me out of the truck to untie the blindfold.

The familiar, overgrown landscape of the factory comes into focus as my eyes adjust to the sudden intrusion of daylight. We are parked in the same area as last time and I'm able to spot my dad's empty vehicle a few yards away.

He must already be inside.

My heart rate quickens in anticipation with each step that we take towards the factory's entrance. Negan must be excited as well because he has yet to cease whistling a high-pitched melody. I try to focus on the crunch of the leaves and vegetation underneath my sneakers, anything to calm myself down.

Negan stops us both upon reaching a massive, sliding industrial door. Grabbing the handle, he uses nearly all his weight to propel the metal door open. He quickly ushers me inside and secures the door.

A maze of enormous machines scatter a space nearly twice as large as the main floor of the Sanctuary. Everything from the equipment, the rafters, and even the tools scattered on the floor are caked in a thick layer of dust and debris. Our movements stir-up even more dust particles into the air, irritating my sinuses.

We snake our way past several rows of conveyer belts as Negan continues to lead me deeper into the bowels of the factory. Rounding a corner, we enter a space that must have once been the break room for the labourers. Metal lockers line one wall from floor to ceiling, there's an empty spot in the corner where a refrigerator would've been, and a medium sized table with three chairs takes up most of the space.

That's when I see him leaning against the lockers – hair a disheveled mess, heavy bags lay under his sunk-in eyes, face unshaven, and sporting a half tucked-in flannel shirt riddled with stains. Every other button is either buttoned in the wrong spot or not buttoned at all. Even fully clothed, he appears frail and unwell.

I can't help but fight back tears at the sight of him. I've never seen my father in this sort of condition. He didn't look anywhere near this bad when I saw him two weeks ago. To be perfectly honest, I may not have recognized him if I passed him out on the street.

He lifts his head when we enter the room, his weary eyes coming to life when we meet each other's gaze.

Neither of us make a move. We know to wait for Negan's say-so before acting.

"Well, hello there, friend! It's good to see your ugly ass face again. By the way, I love the new look. If you're going for the 'homeless piece of shit living underneath the bridge' look, then you fucking nailed it!" Negan chuckles.

My father only nods in response, barely registering Negan's jabs. His attention never leaving me.

Despite the lack of a reaction from my dad, Negan continues to hurl his usual insults towards him. He's taking his sweet time explaining the rules knowing that my father and I are impatiently waiting for him to finish his spiel in order to be in each other's loving embrace again. I begin to grow restless and shift my weight back-and-forth between each leg, the movement not going unnoticed by Negan.

"Ohhh shit. How insensitive of me! You probably want to hug him right about now and get this visit started, correct? Come on, pup, what do you say? You know your fucking manners."

"Please, sir, may I hug my father?" The words are painless and sincere for a change. At this point, I'll say whatever the bastard wants to hear, anything to be able to be in my father's protective arms.

My father visibly cringes upon hearing me easily submit to Negan. I can't imagine what it is like seeing someone who you despise have so much control over your daughter, especially when you have no say in the matter as her father.

The hold on my arm is released and I rush towards my father. When I reach him, the force of my embrace nearly knocks us both to the floor. He cradles my head against his chest and repeatedly whispers 'my baby, my baby' as relieved tears fall from his face.

It's in this vulnerable moment that my emotional walls break down. For once, I feel safe enough to release the anger, sorrow, and frustration that I've been bottling in since this entire ordeal began.

For a minute, I'm not the nineteen-year-old who has adapted to her captive situation and is fighter. I'm the eight-year-old girl who is overwhelmed by a seemingly hopeless situation and is in need of her father's strength to keep her going. I can't get through this on my own.

The scratching sound of a chair leg being dragged across the concrete floor pops our emotional bubble.

"Don't mind me," Negan interjects. Dragging one of the chairs to the far wall. "I just figured I'd give you two some space, but still within ear shot." Resting Lucille against the wall next to him, Negan whips out a rolled-up newspaper from his back pocket, and plops himself on the chair.

"One hour and forty-six minutes left." He announces from behind the front page of the paper.

I silently thank Negan for allowing us the limited privacy. It may not be much, but it is something.

Turning his attention back to me, my dad holds me at arms-length and begins to look me over. His expression falls as he notices the healed scrapes and wounds on my face and wrists, some of which were not present the last time he saw me.

"What has he done to you?" His words laced with worry and frustration.

"Dad, I'm fine –."

"Don't you dare lie to me Samantha! What happened?"

"Oh shit, motherfucker pulled out the full first name! Someone is in trouble…" Negan instigates from his spot in the corner of the room. He is obviously paying more attention to us than the paper that he is supposed to be reading.

I need to be careful about what I say. Dad deserves to know the truth, but telling the truth may enrage him even more. I need to find a way to answer his question while also maintaining favor with Negan. Placing the blame of my injuries entirely on him, no matter how accurate the statement is, will not look good in Negan's eyes. He may decide that I broke the rules and drag me from this place.

"Dad…. I'm fine, really. It's only a few scratches and bruises. It was my fault – Negan warned me of what would happen if I didn't cooperate. I was way out of line…. You know that I've always pushed my limits, I just pushed a little too far this time.' I take a deep breath and plaster the biggest, fake reassuring grin on my face.

'He's been good to me. Negan was generous enough to call a doctor to check on me when I wasn't feeling well, I'm being fed, and no one is torturing me. Hell, I get to lounge around all day while he's working! I'm fine dad, I promise." I hope that I did a well enough job painting my picture of lies for him.

My dad remains motionless.

Did he not hear me?

That's when I notice that his eyes are locked on the collar around my neck.

He slowly raises his hands off my shoulders, his fingertips lightly brushing the leather.

"W-what is this…? He called you his 'pup'. What the fuck is going on?" He turns and yells towards Negan.

Negan lowers the paper and reveals his signature smirk, only fueling my father even more. "Careful, Pete…," he warns.

I grab my dad and turn him back towards me. The last thing I need is for him to mouth off to Negan in an emotional fit.

"Hey! Look at me! It's nothing. The collar is just a precaution, a visible reminder that he is in control. And the whole 'pup' thing? That's only because he could never remember my name. It's better than him calling me a 'bitch' or a 'cunt.' Calm down, dad, please. I'm. Fine."

Those blue eyes of his stare back at me, searching mine for even the slightest indication that what I said wasn't true. I stare back, pleading with him to believe me and calm down.

After a moment, he lowers his head until our foreheads are touching, releasing a held breath. "A father can't help but worry about his baby girl."

"I know, I know."

I don't blame him for worrying about me, he has a right to. He knows the kind of person that Negan is and I'm sure that it isn't comforting to know that his daughter is spending every waking minute with that kind of man.

We both take a seat at the table. Negan is still entranced in his paper.

"How are you doing?" I question.

Dad is hesitant to answer, glancing in Negan's direction.

"I'm fine."

Now I'm the one to give him the 'that's bullshit and you know it' expression. He too, won't reveal much as long as Negan is present.

"You don't look fine. How long has it been since you showered? Are you even sleeping?" I relentlessly probe.

One more leery look is sent Negan's way before my dad answers, realizing that it is no point in trying to hide anything from Negan. It would be easy enough for Negan to find out the truth as to what was going on with him.

"I'm hanging in there, baby. Been pulling double shifts when I can at the shop to stay ahead of the payments. The extra cash has helped, but it hasn't been enough on its own. I went through the garage and pulled out every spare tool and piece of equipment that I could possibly get money for. I sold the Harley, a few TV's, and I was even able to get a little bit of cash for my favorite recliner. Even with all of that, I barely made Negan's minimum last week. I was desperate, Sam, and I needed more money. I had to sell – ' He suddenly pauses and adverts his eyes from me. Mindlessly fumbling for the right words to say.

'I-I had to sell the guitar. God knows that I didn't want to, but I didn't have a choice. I promised that I would do whatever it took to keep you safe. I'm so sorry…." His upper body folds over the table. Head down, weeping into the sleeves of his tattered shirt.

I don't even register what is said after 'I had to sell the guitar'. I saw my father's lips moving, but there was no sound. Only the echoing phrase of 'I had to sell the guitar'.

To any other person, it was your average Martin guitar. Maple body with a glossy finish, sporting a few scratches that only added to its character. It's tone so rich and full that the chords carried you away in musical bliss.

To my father and I, it was the one thing that could still bring us joy. That guitar was my mother's most prized possession. She bought it when she was my age, hell bent and determined to teach herself how to play. She did exactly that. Boy, could that woman play! And her voice? Oh man, she would put the angels to shame!

She taught me how to play before she passed away. Whenever I picked up that ol' guitar and strummed the same chords that she did, I swear I could hear her sweet voice filling my ears again. I knew that my mother was never far away from me as long as I had that guitar in my hands. Her memory lived on in that instrument.

Now its gone.

I should be angry. I should be upset. Right now, I'm just numb.

No, I'm terrified.

The fact that my father had to resort to selling the one item that practically carried with it a piece of his own heart and soul tells me just how deep in the hole we are. At this point, he is beyond desperate in his search for money.

I rise from my seat and wrap my arms around his shaking frame. "It's okay, dad. You did the right thing. Everything is going to be alright. Just survive somehow… JSS…." The words repeat over and over again until his breathing calms. "Mom would understand. We don't need a piece of wood and metal for us to know that she is still here with us." I realize that to him, this must feel like losing her all over again.

It takes several minutes for him to compose himself.

"I'm okay now. I think I got it all out." He says while wiping the last remaining tears from his puffy eyes.

To lighten the mood a bit, dad spends the next half-hour or so updating me on what I have missed in the world of sports. Everything from NFL season predictions to who are the current champions in the various wrestling promotions that I follow. He's in the middle of detailing a specific title match when Negan's cell phone begins to ring.

"What the fuck do you want?" He spits to the person on the other line.

Almost immediately, his face scrunches into an infuriated grimace.

"I can't even leave for one God damn, motherfucking afternoon without a situation arising on your shit-for-brain's watch!" He bolts upright, grabs Lucille, and stomps toward the door. Before walking out, he stops and turns back to our confused looks. "I'm going to be right outside this room. Either of you makes a fucking move and I'll smash the other's fucking head in!" With that, he walks out.

Negan's thunderous voice echoes down the hallway as he barks more obscenities and orders to the poor soul on the other line.

My dad springs to his feet and goes to peak outside the door to ensure that Negan is gone. "Praise God, that should buy us some time." He appears visibly lighter now that Negan is gone.

"I need to talk to you Sam."

"Okay?"

"I know that you have your knife." The tone wasn't that of disapproval or anger, but one of worry.

My eyes widen in shock. I wasn't expecting him to find out.

"How did you know?"

"I noticed that it wasn't in its usual spot in your room when I was packing the bag of extra clothes for you. What the hell were you thinking?" Flailing his arms in clear objection.

I can tell that he wanted to full-blown yell his previous question but had to settle for a pointed whisper instead.

"I know, it wasn't the smartest decision… I grabbed it because I was scared and upset. Hey, but I haven't used it!" As if he was supposed to be reassured by that last comment.

"Look," he sits back down beside me, "I don't blame you for taking the knife. I would've done the same thing. The worry comes from knowing that you tend to make decisions based off your emotions and not your logic. Baby girl, you let your heart make too many decisions for you. That's how you get yourself hurt. I'm sure that's how you got yourself hurt with Negan, right?" He questions, raising an eyebrow.

A slight nod is all the answer that he needs.

"I know it's hard, but sometimes you have to disregard what you're feeling to survive. Look at me, I'm having to swallow my pride and dignity daily to ensure your safety. I would've gotten us both killed by now if I had let my emotions control my actions. Promise me that you will use that brain of yours from now on. It's better to suffer from a bruised ego from submitting to logic than a bruised face from letting your heart control your actions and mouth.

Once again, he is right. I could've saved myself a lot of pain if I had thought through a situation before acting. My way of surviving wasn't a form of surviving at all; it was pure luck that Negan had enough patience with me to not have bashed my skull in by now for my insubordination and defiance. He might not be so understanding in the future.

I jump as another one of Negan's roars reverberates through the factory. He is nowhere near finished with his phone conversation.

This may be my only opportunity to utilize the only time with my dad; I have to ask him.

"Dad? Be honest with me, I deserve to know – how did you get involved with Negan in the first place?"

There's a shift in his demeanor upon hearing my question. He brings his shoulders inward, practically shrinking inside of himself, his hands begin to tremble, and his features become pale.

I patiently wait for a response as he continuously taps on the table, trying to will himself to answer the question.

"Believe it or not, Negan wasn't my first choice when it came to getting my supply. There was someone else before him, another group...' His icy blue eyes dilate in terror at the mentioning of the unknown group.

'I never really got involved with them, but I heard things. I knew some guys who boasted about how top-level their shit was. It seemed worth a try, but then it was made known what happens when you cross this group. Terrible things about what they were capable of, especially their leader."

Another group? Someone just as ruthless, if not more, than Negan?

"Who are they? That's why you chose to do business with Negan?"

He shakes his head from side-to-side. "I don't know. I never got that far into the deal with them. That's why I got into it with Negan. However, I didn't realize how dangerous Negan was until it was too late…" His voice trails off.

Before I have a chance to respond, Negan struts back into the room.

"Sorry Pete, gotta cut this reunion short by a few minutes. Duty calls – I'm needed back at home. Say your goodbyes, pup, time to fucking roll out."

Despite my objection, I do as I'm told and say goodbye to my dad, embracing him in a bear hug.

"Use that brain of yours, kiddo. JSS," he whispers in my ear.

"Yes, sir. Stay strong, dad. JSS," I reply.

He gives me one final squeeze before releasing me.

I wave goodbye as I'm lead away once again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Bump!_

This damn truck needs to be put out of its misery. It's one pothole away from disintegrating into a pile of junk.

We've been on the road for quite some time now.

I'm glad that Negan has me blindfolded – the fabric does a fantastic job of absorbing my tears. Something that it has been dong since we began our journey back to the Sanctuary.

Don't get me wrong, seeing my father tremendously lifted my spirit. However, I'm now left with more worries than reassurance. There's his physical and emotional condition, the money, and now the news that there was another group out there who may be just as ruthless as Negan! This is a cluster-fuck of a mess.

"Did you enjoy your visit with daddy?" Negan breaks the silence.

"Sure." My tone indifferent.

"Shit, it doesn't sound like you did. You and your pops seem close. Y'all always been like that?" He attempts to dig deeper.

In case Negan hadn't noticed, I'm not in the mood for small talk and another round of twenty questions.

"Nope. Not always"

He sighs in frustration. "Enough with the fucking attitude! It's getting on my last damn nerve. What's got your panties in a twist?"

"Nothing, I'm fine." I mutter.

"Bullshit! I realize that most of the visit wasn't a cheery 'hug fest' like you thought it would be, but so what? How about you take that attitude and redirect that shit towards your daddy. He's the one who's struggling to pay the bill so early in the game.'

'Better yet, I don't know who is more useless – your pathetic father who can't man the fuck up and pay what he owes me, or his temperamental kid who's only real use is doing my fucking laundry!"

I visibly bristle. Every nerve in my body wanted to scream and hit at Negan, but, remembering what my dad said, I use my entire willpower to remain rooted to the seat.

"Stop being a damn pussy and grow up. Quit worrying about your dad and his money problem. You only need to be fucking concerned if he isn't able to pay my minimum, which will be pretty damn soon if he doesn't get his shit together."

"What happens if he can't pay?" I whisper; fearing his answer.

"Then someone else will…."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Spitfire47.
> 
> Hey guys! Thank you for your patience with the late update. My grandmother had a medical emergency this past week and I had been spending valuable time with her. I'm really praying that this is the last 'family emergency' for a while now; two incidents in a month is enough...
> 
> What did you think of the update? It appears that Negan and the Saviors aren't the only threats out there... How will Sam react after processing the mass amount of information gained from her dad? I'd love to hear from you guys!


	13. Chapter 13

 

A few days have passed since the bittersweet reunion with my father.

Heeding my father's warning, I've made a conscious effort to think before I acted. There were some close calls when I physically had to bite my tongue to prevent me from mouthing off against Negan whenever he uttered a crude comment, which was often.

Negan poked and prodded at my mental and emotional resolve daily, testing its integrity to see if he could cause a rise out of me. I held firm, refusing to fly off the handle no matter how bad I wanted to.

My compliance was rewarded in true Negan fashion when he upgraded me from laundry duty to full-blown housekeeper. Along with the laundry, my duties now include vacuuming, dusting, and cooking, amongst other household chores.

"You've been doing such a fucking phenomenal job washing my rancid boxers that I figured it was time to promote you!" Negan had explained his reasoning behind the promotion. "Also, view it as a sign of trust. I've flung a shit ton of shit your way the past few days and you've fucking taking it in stride. I must admit, I'm proud of ya, pup!"

'Proud of me ?' I wasn't expecting that reaction from him.

Negan is such a hard-ass to the point where it's out of place for him to show any emotion that doesn't involve tearing someone down. This fact made gaining his genuine approval and trust truly unprecedented. I can't squash this opportunity.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

I thought that I was tired before when having to spend my days doing Negan's, and whoever else's clothes he decided to add, laundry. Boy, how I wish that I could go back to that!

He wakes me at the crack of dawn so that I can begin brewing his coffee while he's getting ready. Occasionally, his order will be expanded to include an omelet or bowl of oatmeal with his beverage. Either way, his coffee and breakfast better be waiting for him by the time he comes into the kitchen.

After I've washed and changed into my clothes for the day, Negan would pass on my honey-do list for the day before walking out the door. Each task is to be completed before his return later that evening. I don't dare ask what would happen if the list was incomplete.

Only after Negan leaves, and my babysitter for the day arrives, am I able to prepare breakfast for myself. I know to prepare two helpings of food if it's Simon's lucky day to watch me; the man never turns down a meal.

After cleaning the kitchen from breakfast, the honey-do list begins. The chores are usually the same everyday – vacuum, laundry, prepare lunch for Negan if he isn't gone on a run, dishes, etc.

My initial thought – 'How much mess could one man make that would require daily maintenance?'

A lot… A whole damn lot….

I don't know how it's humanly possible, but he manages to dirty anything that I had just spent hours cleaning. Whether it's constantly coming upstairs and walking on the freshly mopped floors with shoes covered in dust and unknown substances, or choosing to sit on the furniture with his filthy clothes on, knowing that there will be stains left. I'm constantly cleaning up after him.

Only after straightening up from dinner, am I finally off-duty for the day.

By that time, I'm nearly begging Negan to attach the chain to my collar for me to finally get some shut-eye, knowing that the tiring routine commences again tomorrow.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

I've had a couple days to get acclimated to my new routine.

Today, I knew was going to be one of those days, because Negan is not present.

It's 'payment day'.

I've been trying to stay focused on my work to keep my mind off that fact, already feeling the fog of anxiety surrounding me. It's not until I've mopped the same spot three times that I realize that I'm fighting a losing battle.

All I can do is worry. It was made known that my dad is already struggling to keep up with Negan's demands. How much longer can he keep this up? There would only be but so much more that he could sell to make any kind of profit; soon to be Negan's profit.

I just pray that he scavenged enough to get us though another week…

With the episode of worry out of the way, I'm able to breeze through the rest of my chores. Negan's absence also aids in my efficiency considering that he isn't around to interrupt me and add more work, or mess up what I've already done.

The clock on the wall of the kitchen reads 2 PM when I check off the last item on the list.

Negan won't return until at least six. I'm not about to sit around and allow my worried thoughts to overtake me again. Maybe Dwight would know of more work that needs to be done.

Dwight sits at the dining room table. Stacks of papers with names and numbers lay scattered across the surface. He's been hunched over the stationary for hours, only diverting his attention to check on my progress or request a bite to eat or drink.

I cautiously approach him. "Dwight?"

He shows no sign of registering my comment, let alone my presence. Dwight keeps his eyes entranced on the paperwork before him.

It takes me tapping him on the shoulder for him to snap out of it and face me.

"What do you want?" His tone exasperated. "Don't you have shit that you should be doing?"

"I finished it," I said showing him the list.

"Bullshit." The list is snatched from my hands as Dwight double checks my work. After a few moments, he finally nods his head, and hands me back the piece of paper.

"Someone works fast... Go read a book or something, I don't care. Just keep it quiet. I'm trying to get shit done over here."

I speak up before he totally brushes me off. "I'd rather keep working. What else can I do?"

"What? I just gave you the rest of the afternoon off and you want more fucking work to do?"

My eyes fall as I try to mask the true reason behind wanting the extra work.

"It keeps my mind off things…" I mumble.

Dwight releases a sigh, immediately understanding what I meant. He runs a hand through his blonde mane as he contemplates a response. For a split second, his eyes soften the slightest amount like how they did weeks ago during the ironing.

That look disappears as quickly as it appeared, he too realized that his resolve was fading.

"Suit yourself… You could always organize the shit in the cabinets. It's impossible to find anything in that damn kitchen."

I offer a slight nod in thanks before leaving him to resume his work.

Dwight was right; Negan's kitchen cabinets are very disorganized. When preparing meals, it takes me more time to locate the pots, pans, and utensils than it does to cook the food. You would find a strainer in the same cabinet as the glasses, pots and their designated lids are in two different locations, and don't get me started when it comes to locating the spices shoved in the most random places. All of which, were of course in the midst of his huge alcohol collection.

I stand in the middle of the kitchen, hands on my hips, contemplating where to begin. This is going to be a daunting task….

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I'm seated in the floor with various kitchenware scattered around me after several hours of sorting. All of his precious alcohol bottles in the center of the island knowing it was safer there.  In the back of a cabinet is another high-end frying pan that is still sporting a price tag.

You gotta be kidding me?

That's the fourth pan that I've found that has yet to been used! Why the hell does one man need this many damn pots and pans? He could easily open a restaurant with the amount of cookware that he has.

A glimmer of metal at the very back of the cabinet alerts me that there is yet another pan to be retrieved.

I maneuver onto all fours and crouch my head down to wiggle into the cabinet and retrieve the pan.

Being cramped into the confined cabinet causes a sense of déjà vu. I was in the same position when that bastard henchman of Negan's snuck up on me and tried to make me a casualty in his devious plan.

Oh well, at least I don't need to worry about being startled like that agai–

"Yoooohooooooo? The fuck you doing down there?"

My body jumps, causing a familiar pain to radiate through my neck and head as they collide against the underside of the cabinet.

"Fucking dammit!" I hiss angrily.

I back out of the cabinet, rubbing my throbbing neck, to see Negan standing in the middle of my mess. He doesn't look amused to see the contents of his cabinets filling the entire floor.

"You were supposed to be cleaning, not making more of a fucking mess. Care to explain, pup?" He gestures widely with Lucille, emphasizing his point.

His tone causes me to cower beneath him even though I've done nothing wrong.

"There's a point to this mess." I pause, wincing as a sharp pain travels through my neck. "I finished the work that you left for me so I figured that I would be productive with my free time. Organizing the cabinets will make things easier for everyone. No more having to scourer the kitchen for one sticking spoon."

Negan's features soften. "Shit, there I go again being an ass before I've gotten the whole fucking story. I'm sorry, darlin'. I should've known that you wouldn't be up to some shady shit while I was gone. You know better than that by now."

Did he just say 'I'm sorry'?

Negan?

Apologizing?

For a moment, I only stare at him. Truly astonished by the sudden shift in attitude.

"Um, It's okay...," The phrase sounding unsure. "I was just about to start putting everything back. I have a good idea of where things need to go now."

"Fan-fucking-tastic!" Negan jeers. He props Lucille against the counter and slumps onto the floor next to me, displaying his toothy grin. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Geez, really kid?" He reaches down and picks up a frying pan. "You gonna show me where to shove all this shit?"

A chuckle escapes before I realize it. "You? Helping me? Seriously?"

Now, I've seen many looks on Negan's face. Frustration, rage, glee, and even sorrow. But the look that he gave me was one that I had yet to see, one that I never expected to see from him.

Hurt.

Genuine hurt.

His smirk is gone, lips pressed into a hard line. For a moment, he doesn't say a word. Only starring directly at me, the weight of his gaze conveying how much my comment wounded him.

"When are you going to realize that I'm not just some ruthless, piece of shit? I can be a decent human-being from time to time. Sure, I haven't given you any reason to believe that yet, but I'm fucking trying, okay? It's not like I want to be a dick all the time. Old habits are hard to break."

I hang my head in shame. Internally kicking myself for failing to think before opening my big mouth. I can add ‘unintentionally offending Negan' to my list of fuck ups.

"I'm sorry… I shouldn't have said that –."

Negan raises his hand, stopping me in my tracks. "No. You said it, you meant it. It's done. I don't necessarily blame you. Just know that there is more to me than the crazed, bat wielding lunatic that you're used to."

I nod in response and grab a small frying pan, placing it in one of the cabinets. Negan silently follows my lead and does the same. Each of us working in tandem to refill the bare cabinet shelves.

We work in silence. Exchanging the occasional sideways glance and comments of 'that goes here' or 'hand me that lid'.

His words echoed in my mind. Of course, I would only expect the worst out of him since that is all that I've come to know. Sure, he's been sweet and kind on the rarest occasion, but not to the point where I would expect it out of him. I'm practically dealing with a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde situation, where Negan stays almost permanently locked in 'Dr. Jekyll' mode.

However, he has shown me that a 'Mr. Hyde' lies somewhere beneath the dense layers of Dr. Jekyll that entangle his heart and psyche.

It's about time to begin digging for ol' Mr. Hyde.

"Remember the little game of twenty questions we played the other week?" I ask, passing him a saucepan.

"You mean when you rendered me fucking speechless with your sports brain? Hell yeah. Why?" Negan hesitates, trying to predict where I'm going with this.

"You've berated me with a million questions. It's about time that you sat in the hot seat for a change."

Negan shakes his head. "Nope, not gonna happen!"

"Oh come on!" I whine. "You said that 'there is more to you'. I'm just trying to do what you said and be open to more. Besides, you know practically everything about me and I don't even know your favorite color."

He pauses and sighs. "Fuck it… black. My favorite God damn color is black."

That's no surprise considering his dark wardrobe.

"Okay, cool. Favorite food?"

"Spaghetti. I used to keep a stockpile of Spaghetti-O's in the pantry. Had to quit that shit because I ate it so much that it made me constipated. Fucked my ass up bad!"

I don't know whether to laugh or vomit at the thought of Negan's precarious bathroom situation.

"Let me put it this way," Negan continues, "it felt like I birthed a seven pound, six-ounce baby turd log when I finally loosened up enough to get it out of my fucking insides."

That was enough to send me over the edge in hysterical laughter.

Negan joins in, both of us soon clutching our stomachs from laughing so hard.

We never make it to another question due to the prolonged chuckling that maintained itself for the remaining duration of the cabinet organizing.

"That's some fine handy work." Negan admires the fruits of our labor. Every pot, pan, lid, and utensil has a designated home, whether in a drawer, cabinet, or in the pantry. His alcohol having a whole cabinet to its' self.

He slowly rises to his feet due to the stiff muscles from sitting cross-legged on the floor for so long.

Reaching a hand down, Negan pulls me to my feet. The change in positioning causes another hot, stabbing pain to traverse through my neck.

"Jesus Christ, pup, how do you keep fucking yourself up?" A frown appears on his face upon seeing my obvious pain and discomfort.

"It's a gift, I guess."

I try to rub away the tenderness of the muscles, but to no avail with the area on the back of my neck and shoulders being out of reach.

"Come here," Negan motions.

Though leery of what he wants, but not wanting to ruin the lighthearted atmosphere, I comply and go to stand in front of a concerned Negan.

Negan gently turns me to where I'm facing away from him.

My body involuntarily stiffens as I feel his large hands begin to rub and knead the sore muscles of my neck.  The collar shifts as he pushes it upward to get at the muscles.

"Just relax...," he instructs. "It'll loosen your muscles up a bit."

I try my absolute hardest to will my muscles to slacken.

Just focus on the actions and not on who is doing them…

At first, the muscles screamed in protest of the localized pressure coming from Negan's thick fingers squeezing and pressing on the tender area.

The pain is replaced with soothing relief when Negan changes tactics and begins rubbing the back of my neck in small circles, taking his time in doing so.

Damn, it feels so good.

His skillful hands travel down to my shoulders, individually working the muscles in each shoulder.

"No need to be so tense, darlin'. I know that you've been worried about your pops today."

I go rigid at the mentioning of my father.

"Shhhh...," Negan soothes. He increases the pressure, encouraging my muscles to relax again. "Your dad paid up. Not one cent was missing."

His words bring instant calm to me. I had been worrying all day about today's meet up. Now knowing that my father could survive yet another week is enough to keep me going as well.

Negan lightly snickers upon feeling me relax under his touch.

He continues undoing the knots that had built up in my upper body, making sure to show equal attention to both shoulders.

I found myself leaning into his touch. Entranced in the soothing bliss of being pain-free for a change. I know that I shouldn't be okay with this, Negan being so close and intimate, but it feels so good that any previous causes for concern have vanished.

A subtle moan leaves my lips as those fingers of his begin to knead the delicate area between my shoulder blades, a spot where I've always carried a lot of tension.

"Judging by that sound you just made, I'm guessing that I hit a sweet spot?" He leans in close and whispers.

"Mmmmhmmmm." Unable to form coherent sentences.

I feel his calloused hands slowly work their way down my shoulders and back, coming to rest on my hips. His thumbs slip under the waistband of my basketball shorts and begin to gently caress the exposed flesh in lazy circles.

The sudden feeling of direct skin-to-skin contact that far down is enough to snap me out of my trance. He's crossed uncharted territory. I take one hand and wrap it around Negan's wrist in an attempt to pull him away.

"Easy there, darlin'.' He shakes free from my grasp and wraps the long arm around me, securing my arms at my side, causing me to stiffen. The other hand gently stroking the nape of my neck, occasionally travelling over the leather collar.

'Take it easy. I was just following your lead. Someone seemed to be enjoying it, too… Yeah, I heard those precious moans of yours." His gruff voice only inches from my ear. The scruff of his beard prickling the delicate skin of the side of my neck.

This has gone too far. I should've never allowed him to begin in the first place! I never wanted this, but my body took control.

"Negan…" I softly plead.

"Come on, little pup, you know that you want this. Your brain may be screaming no, but the pretty little sounds that came from that sweet mouth of yours is saying something totally fucking different. I can make you feel so good, baby. Just give in to what your body already wants…."

I can feel the zipper from his leather jacket press into my back as he pulls me closer to him. He slowly grinds his hips against me, a noticeable bulge forming underneath his pants.

This is an inner battle unlike any other. My body and biological hormones are working against me; it disgusts me that I'm somehow turned on by his antics and that he is able to get such a reaction out of me.

But I don't want this – not this way and not with Negan.

That doesn't seem to matter at this point. He's hell bent on getting what he wants, what he has always wanted from me since our first encounter. How could I have been so naïve to think otherwise?

I must give it one more try.

"Negan… Please…"

"Yes, darlin'?"

"….Stop."

I stumble forward as Negan immediately releases me, backing a few steps away. My arms instinctively wrap around myself.

For a moment, Negan doesn't say a word. He runs his hands through his hair in frustration, refusing to look at me.

Finally, he grabs Lucille and turns to me. "Make sure that this apartment is fucking spotless by the time I come back up here! Not one damn thing better be out of place. I'm not putting up with no God damn bullshit!"

I'm left standing in the middle of the kitchen after he charges out of the apartment.

What the hell just happened…?

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde made many appearances tonight. It went from asshole Negan, to considerate Negan, to hurt Negan, to laughable Negan, to gentle Negan, and back to asshole Negan.

My legs eventually give way from being overwhelmed with emotion, causing me to sink to the floor.

Tears fall from my eyes but I have no idea what exact feeling they are coming from. It could be from frustration with myself for inadvertently feeding his desires and finding that I possessed my own. Or, it could be from having to deal with the fact that there are so many different sides to Negan.

Or, it could be thankfulness for the fact that he didn't force himself on me. I believe that is what astounded me the most. He is a man who will take whatever he wants, yet, he didn't 'take' what he wanted from me. It wouldn't have been exactly hard for him. Negan was much stronger than I, but maybe it's a line he won't cross or I just caught him on a good day.

Either way, there is more to Negan than what meets the eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Spitfire47.
> 
> Things are heating up! Any thoughts? Thanks for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

This past week has been painfully awkward around Negan. He's been short with me, more than usual, since the massage incident. When he's around, most of the time, Negan would find any excuse to berate me.

"Are you fucking blind? You missed a spot on the floor!" That was when he found a spec of dirt on the freshly mopped floors. Let it be known that the dirt came from his own disgusting boots.

The berating comments kept coming and coming. Each one pushing me further towards the edge of my self-control. Boy, did he give me plenty of opportunities to practice my skill of thinking before acting.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You'll scrub a damn hole in that plate, if you keep scrubbing it like that."

"Huh?" My mind refocuses as I look over my shoulder towards Dwight.

"You've been scrubbing that same plate for a few minutes. I think it's fucking clean now."

I had zoned out yet again. This has become a routine occurrence whenever Negan was due to meet with my father, such as today's case. My subconscious can't help but to develop worse-case scenarios for my viewing pleasure. So instead of seeing the soapy dish in my hands, I see the mental image of Lucille laying waste to my father.

Dwight isn't blind to my distracted state. This isn't the first time that he has had to get me back on task during one of my pained escapes from reality. He would normally just call out to get my attention, sending a concerned look my way.

Apparently, he's grown tired of it, or I just caught him in a pissed-off mood. He briskly walks over to me and yanks the dish out of my hands, slamming it onto the counter, nearly breaking it in the process.

"You keep staying inside of your head like that and you'll drive yourself fucking crazy. Guess what? Crying and sulking ain't gonna change shit. What's meant to go down today between Negan and your fucking father will happen no matter what. Get yourself together and get over it! It's pathetic."

His words are like a slap to the face. The bastard has no idea what he's talking about.

"Fuck you! You don't know shit." I hiss and storm off towards Negan's room, hands still dripping wet. Punish me if he wants, but I had to get as far away from him before I really said something that I would regret.

"You keep thinking that, kid." Dwight chuckles as I'm walking away.

Slamming the bedroom door shut, I pace the room in pure frustration.

Get myself together? Pathetic? The son of a bitch couldn't ever fathom the hell that I'm going through right now. I'm being held against my will and forced to be someone's 'pet' while my father is tasked with selling off nearly all his possessions to pay off a deranged, power hungry prick. Let's not forget that there is always the looming threat of death above our heads… And I'm supposed to just 'get over it?'

Yeah, I'll get over the fact that Negan has expressed that part of him hopes that my father can't pay up so that he could have an excuse to use Lucille on him. I'll get over that I'm constantly walking on eggshells around him, not knowing if I'll receive a verbal thrashing for a meaningless infraction of any kind. Or, that maybe one day, I'll look at him the wrong way and he'll suddenly decide that it's time for another one of his 'lessons' in respect, or whatever he wants to call it.

I sink into one of the plush armchairs and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to calm my turbulent mood.

Dammit. So much for relying on my brain to make my decisions… Just when I thought that I was beginning to hone that skill.

"I really am trying, dad…," I whisper to myself. Knowing that he would be disappointed in my actions.

What can of worms did my ignorance open for myself with Dwight? He's certain to tell Negan, which means a heated lecture, along with some form of punishment that he has threatened me with, is in my near future. I have no idea what to expect with this being the first time that I've disrespected one of his men.

I need to do some damage control. Swallowing my pride and sucking up to Dwight is better than waiting to see what pain awaits upon Negan's return.

I reluctantly stand and sulk towards the bedroom door to go find Dwight.

My fingers are wrapped around the brass knob, ready to open it, when the door is suddenly forced open from the other side. It pushes me back and causes me to trip over my own feet in the process, landing hard onto the floor.

Dwight stands over me. His cold, emotionless stare bringing instant fear.

My heart immediately sinks upon seeing thin plastic restraints and a bandana gripped tightly in his hands.

Oh God… I've done it this time. A line had been crossed that has caused Dwight to mirror the look and actions of Negan.

"I'm sorry that I mouthed off to you! It was stupid. Please, Dwight, don't do this!" I frantically plead while trying to crawl away from him. Unsure of what he had planned for me.

"I'm only going to tell you this once – get up and put your arms behind your back. I don't have time for this shit."

"Dwight, please…."

Dwight doesn't utter a word as he shortens the distance between us in a couple strides and grabs my arm. The limb is roughly twisted, causing me to turn onto my stomach to relieve the pain.

I shriek when I feel his bony kneecap harshly press into my back to hold me in place. He has no problem securing my wrists and blindfold with me subdued beneath him.

Within a few minutes, he has my trembling, whimpering frame loaded into the passenger seat of his truck. Dwight checks my restraints one more time before putting the truck in drive and speeding away from the Sanctuary.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Deep breaths, Sam. Stay calm.

That's what I kept reminding myself to prevent a mental breakdown.

I have no idea where he is taking me. My only knowledge being that Dwight was noticeably irate and eager to get on the road.

We've been barreling down the road for quite some time now. The engine has remained fully revved since we pulled out of the Sanctuary. Wherever we're going, he's anxious to get us there.

"Where are you taking me?" The question barely rising above a whisper.

"Keep your mouth shut."

"Look, I'm sorry that I cursed at you! But this,' I shake my bound wrists, "is all because of that?"

That garners a laugh from the lieutenant.

"You honestly think that your little spat offended me so much, that I then do all of this? That's a good one… I'm just following orders."

"What do you mean?"

I hear Dwight curse under his breath after letting that slip out.

"Forget that I said anything." He attempts to end the conversation.

Then it dawns on me – he only follows orders from one person.

"What does Negan want me for? Are you taking me to him?"

No response from Dwight.

"So, you're just following his orders like you did during the ironing?"

Dwight releases a deep breath, a bit of forced annoyance creeps into his voice, "I told you to drop it."

"Why do you do what you do? Simon, I understand him. He's practically 'Negan Jr.' But you? You can get pissed at me for saying this, I have nothing to lose at this point, but you're not like them. You can deny it all you want, but I remember what you whispered to me the night of the ironing. I see the way that you look at me in pity and sympathy, and then try to hide it. How you act one way when it's just you and I, and then the complete opposite when Negan is present. Why?"

Silence.

Complete silence.

For a moment, I question whether Dwight even heard me.

Forget it… there was no point in even trying. I don't even bother saying anything else to him. What's the point?

My attention is redirected to the fact that Dwight is, in fact, taking me to Negan. The urgency of how fast the vehicle was going and level of restraints used don't help in my attempts to stay optimistic. Zip-ties haven't been used on me since the ironing. The fact that Dwight has resorted to using them only reiterates that something is about to go down… or something has already gone down…

As much as I want to cry right now, I just can't will the tears to fall. I guess that Dwight's comments from earlier had an affect. Crying and sulking won't change what has happened, or what may happen. What's done is done… At this point, I'm at the mercy of Negan.

Even while blindfolded, I know that we must be on the way to the factory. Every curve, bump, and stop is familiar. My hunch is confirmed when my body shifts in the seat as the truck leaves the highway and turns onto a gravel road, the crunch of the rocks underneath the tread giving it away. That should mean that we are about half an hour or so away from our destination.

I'm startled when Dwight gently clears his throat, breaking the silence that has lingered for nearly an hour.

"This isn't who I am. It's who I have to be to survive."

His tone was low as he revealed the shameful truth. So low, that I would've never heard him speak if he hadn't first cleared his throat and gotten my attention.

"Why?"

I don't receive an answer. Instead, the truck slows to a stop. The engine idles for a few seconds before the flip of the ignition ceases the mechanics.

I listen intently as Dwight exits the cab and slowly makes his way around to the passenger side to retrieve me.

It's only when I'm out of the truck that Dwight removes my blindfold.

I'm greeted by the sight of the thick brush that encircles the factory. The mammoth towers of the rusted building appear orange in color from reflecting the setting sun.

Over to our left is my father's empty truck. Negan's vehicle is there as well.

I can faintly hear voices in the distance, though I have yet seen anyone.

Dwight pushes me in the direction of the voices. "Move it."

We trudge the length of the abandoned parking lot towards the side of the factory.

I nearly broke free of Dwight's hold after what I saw when we rounded the corner of the factory.

There, in the middle of the small clearing beside the factory, was my father. He was knelt before Negan. Blood flowed from his nose that now curved at a jagged angle, obviously broken. His left eye was nearly twice its original size, painted a dark purplish, blue. There was severe swelling and bruising along his jaw from repeated blows to the face. He was barely recognizable.

Simon stands guard behind my father while Negan is situated in front.

I'm pulling and fighting against Dwight to such an extent to get to my father that he is forced to yank on my collar to regain control of me. He leads me the rest of the way to Negan like that, one had on my bound wrists with the other gripped tightly on the collar.

"There's the guest of honor!" Negan beams at me once we're only a few yards away. "I thought that we were going to have to start without ya. Get her on her knees next to daddy."

Dwight hauls me to the spot that Negan indicated and forces me to the ground. He remains behind me, ready to intervene if I try anything at all.

My father raises his head to look at me. He appears dazed from the beating, his one good eye glazed over and struggling to stay open.

"Dad? What happened?" It takes all that I have not to break down right then and there.

My dad tries to speak but he is incoherent due to the swelling in his jaw. He becomes increasingly undone as he repeats a mangled phrase.

A pained cough emits from my father's chest, spraying drops of blood onto the ground. Mouth now clear of blood, he is able to muster out the phrase of 'I'm sorry.'

Negan crouches in front of my father and I. "Aw, shucks! You hear that, darlin'? Papa is sorry." He pauses and places a hand over his mouth as if he just spoiled a secret. "Oh, my bad! You still have no fucking clue of what he's so sorry about. Well, it's about time that I filled you in on what you missed!' Negan stands to his feet and commences to pacing the ground before us. All the while, swinging Lucille from one hand to another.

'You see pup, usually these pays go down smoothly. I show up, bust papa's balls a bit, he gives the envelope of cash to Simon or Dwight to be counted, and then we all go on our merry-fucking-way. But today, something just didn't feel right when the little fucker arrived…. I had barely gotten out a god damn 'hello' before someone started rambling about how 'I really did all that I could this week, blah, blah, blah.' Or better yet, he hit me with 'it was a slow week at work, blah, blah.' It sounded to me that I wasn't going to find all of my fucking money in that envelope…' Negan halts in front of my father. His tone losing its playful edge, now resembling a menacing snarl.

'You wanna tell her what I found in the envelope Pete? No? Oh, my fucking bad – your mouth is still swollen like a baboon's ass. What he is unable to say right now is that he failed to meet the minimum this week, and it wasn't by only a few fucking bucks. Over half of my money was missing! Half!' Negan jabs Lucille in my father's direction with every rage-filled roar.

'From day fucking one, I thought that I made it clear of what I expected from you, Pete. It was pretty simple – you give me my shit and I keep your precious angel safe. I kept my end of the fucking deal! What about you, huh? I'd say that is a breach of contract if any! Now, I don't know what kind of people you dealt with in the past, but I need you to know me. You failed to follow through on your end of the fucking deal. So now, I'm gonna beat the holy-hell out of you in front of your baby girl. She needs to see this so that she knows that I am a man of my fucking word!"

On cue, Simon grabs my father by the collar and drags the beaten man from my side. I try and stop Simon but Dwight yanks hard on the collar, pulling me back in place. Helpless I watch my father as he tries to kick and claw at the ground to stand and get any sort of upper hand against Simon. At the first sign of resistance from my father, Negan raises Lucille and points the barbed weapon in my direction.

"Take your punishment like a fucking man, Pete, or she will take it for you. Don't test me!"

The threat on my life is enough for my father to cease his resistance against Simon. He allows Simon to roughly drag him the remaining few feet to Negan without issue.

Realizing that there is no getting out of this, my father turns to me and gives me a final reassuring nod before using his last ounce of strength to raise his weary head, look Negan dead in the eyes, and face what's to come head-on.

"Good choice, Pete! I'd like to say that I'm going to make this quick, but Lucille likes to take her sweet time. Don't worry, I'll make sure she steers clear of your skull… for now."

As if in slow motion, Negan grips Lucille and turns his body into a batting position. The bat perched on his shoulder, ready to take aim and swing at my father. My father squeezes his eyes shut as Negan begins his swing, using all his strength to propel Lucille forward.

"No!" I bolt from my knelt position before Dwight could get a hold of me and rush towards my father, putting myself in the line of fire as a way of protecting him. Negan stops just before striking my back and arm and is clearly taken aback by my actions.

"Get her fucking ass back in line!" Negan signals the lieutenants.

Dwight manhandles me back to my original position and he is careful to keep a tight grip on me to prevent another fiasco.

"Now that," Negan says, stepping towards me," was a no-no! Have you lost your motherfucking mind?"

"Please, don't hurt him!" I beg, my voice slightly pitches. "There has to be another way!"

"I'm sorry, darlin', but there is no other way. This is the only way that our little disagreement will get resolved. I warned you both about what would happen."

"I'll do whatever you want! Please, Negan, punish me instead, not him! He's been through enough already, look at him... Please –" My tears and wavering voice cause my pleas to come out jumbled and somewhat inaudible.

I've stripped myself of all pride at this point. Begging and pleading for clemency for my father. Hoping that maybe, just maybe, Negan would go easy on me.

Negan doesn't say a word as he stands equal distance between my father and I, debating on which individual would feel Lucille's wrath. He would pace a few steps towards me and then pace the same amount of steps towards my father, all the while in deep thought.

The wait is agonizing because all I can do is sit here and pray that Negan allows me to take my father's place. I know exactly what I'm asking for, but that's okay, because I know that my father can only take so much more punishment from Negan. He's taken countless bullets for me. It's my turn to step up.

"Alright, you sorry shits! I've made my decision.' He turns and stalks towards me. Lucille is thrusted inches from my face as Negan crouches in front of me.

'Lucille and I talked it out and have reached an understanding. I will forgive your father's short comings for today, no beatings, and I'll revoke the minimum payment for each week." Negan proudly announces.

My eyes widen in amazement. "What…?"

"Jesus Christ, pup! Do I need to spell it out for you? No more minimums. As long as I receive some sort of payment each week, I'm satisfied. Hell, daddy could pay me fifty cents a week for all I care. However, the same terms still apply that he must pay off half his debt before your ass is allowed to go home. All of that could be yours if you agree to one little condition."

Of course, Negan has to get something out of this as well.

"What is the condition?" I hesitantly ask.

The sides of Negan's mouth rise into a devilish grin.

"You agree to become my wife."

Wife?

Negan's wife?

Did I hear him right?

"You want…. What…?" I stutter in disbelief.

"You heard me, darlin'. It's a win-win for everyone! Your papa gets some leniency, you don't have to worry about him possibly dying someday at my hands, and I get you!"

"I-I can't –."

"You can and you fucking will!" Negan sternly interjects. "Or your daddy gets a one-on-one date with Lucille and he'll still be in the hole next week. Then, we will have to start this whole shit-show over again. Those are my terms; take it or leave it!"

My father frantically shakes his head 'no', and tries to speak up.

"Pipe the fuck down, Pete! Someone has an important decision to make and she doesn't need you distracting her." My father immediately settles down, not wanting to anger Negan any further.

As revolting as the notion of being his wife seems, I can't bring it upon myself to throw my father to the wolves to save my own ass. Choosing to allow my father to take the beating would be throwing us both to the wolves. Like Negan said, dad is not going to get out of the hole anytime soon. We will be right back in this situation again next week.

"What's your answer, sweetheart?" Negan leans in and whispers.

It's time for me to step up and take the bullet.

"I-I'll do i-it"

Negan bounces to his feet and joyfully swings Lucille through the air.

"Hot-diggity-dog! Today just gets better and better!"

Although I know that I've made the right decision, I'm too ashamed to look my father in the eye, knowing that his defeated and disapproved glare would be staring back at me.

"Today is your lucky fucking day, Pete! Your life is going to be a lot less stressful now that your little angel has agreed to take my hand in marriage. All you have to worry about now is remembering to show your ugly ass face once a week with a couple cents in your pocket to keep up the new terms. Like I said, win-win for everyone!"

My father doesn't even acknowledge Negan. His head remains bowed, shoulders slumped forward in pure loss. Knowing that no matter how hard he tried, he wasn't able to protect his little girl from a sadistic monster.

Disgruntled that he failed to get any sort of reaction from my father, Negan returns to pestering me.

"Aw, baby. Dry those tears," He gently coos as he wipes the side of my cheek. "It won't be as bad as you think. I'll take good care of you." Negan peeks toward my father to ensure that he was looking before planting a light kiss on my lips. Keeping his eyes locked on the man the entire time, further throwing salt into his wounded heart and ego.

Satisfied by the result, Negan hoists me to my feet and allows me to go say my goodbyes to my father.

It takes my father a moment to lift his broken body from the ground. Once he does, he doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around me. My restraints prevent me from reciprocating the action.

"This is how we survive, dad," I tearfully admit, knowing that this was the only option.

He only squeezes me tighter. Refusing to let me go until Negan practically rips me away.

"Well, we better hit the road! It's already fucking dark and I just can't fucking wait to start living the married life with this young pup right here. Ta-ta, Pete!" Negan shouts over his shoulder as he leads me and his lieutenants towards the parking lot. Leaving my father to process what had just happened.

Back at the vehicles, I go to wait next to Dwight's truck. I'm more than ready to get away from Negan.

"Not so fast, sweetheart. You're riding with me." Negan has the biggest grin as he hooks an arm around my shoulders and guides me towards his vehicle.

XXXXXXXXXXX

This has been the most torturous ride with Negan yet.

He has been whistling 'Here Comes the Bride' since the moment that we began our journey back to the Sanctuary.

"Don't be such a sourpuss! You can sing along too. I mean, it is about you."

The man was genuinely enjoying this.

For a while, he tried to coax me from my curled-up form against the passenger door. Though the blindfold is on, I could imagine his signature grin on his face whenever he speaks. I wasn't having any of it. It's as if he expected me to be just as, if not more, ecstatic about the new terms as he was. My refusal to entertain his charm only frustrated him.

"I just gave your father a way out, showed him mercy, and you have the fucking audacity to give me the cold shoulder?" He huffs.

Silence.

The brakes release a high-pitched screech as the truck skids to a stop on the secluded road. My seat belt digs painfully into my chest from the forward momentum of the sudden stop.

The blindfold is ripped from my eyes. Staring back at me in the dashboard lit cab is a cross Negan.

"Enough bullshit! It's fucking clear as day that you're pissed off. We will sit here all damn night until you put on your big girl panties and tell me what's got you all bent out of shape."

I'm dumfounded. "Wow…. Did you not see what just happened back there?"

"By that, do you mean me saving your dipshit father's ass?"

"Saving his ass? You beat his ass!"

"Yeah, and I would've fucked him up some more!" Negan laughs and slouches against the driver's door, hand resting on the steering wheel. "But I didn't. You wanna know why? I'm a reasonable man."

"Yeah, that is exactly what a reasonable man does…."

Negan releases a whistle. "Oh, shit! So much sass in one little body! Mmmhmm, I know how to pick 'em!"

It's not until I feel drops of blood descending my wrist that I realize that I had been pulling against the restraints, my pure rage masking the pain.

"Fuck you." I return to my original, curled-up position away from Negan.

"Don't worry, we'll have plenty of time for that, wife."

There it is. The true motive behind his decision of making me his wife.

"If all you wanted was sex, you could've saved your time if you had just raped me the other night like you wanted…" I murmur into the darkness.

Negan's grip tightens onto the steering wheel, causing the material to squeak. In my peripheral, I see his body tense at my words. Finally, he sighs deeply.

"What kind of monster do you take me as?" He growls through clenched teeth. "I would never, and I mean NEVER, force myself on a woman. That… now that, is an unforgivable sin."

"But the other night – "

"You said 'no', so I fucking stopped."

So, that's why Negan didn't go through with it. He wanted sex, that's for sure, but he wasn't about to take it by force.

A light touch is felt on my arm. Negan has moved from his spot on the opposite end of the cab and is now by my side. He gently eases my chin up to look at him.

"I would never force you to do anything like that against your will. Rape is not condoned from me or my men. You never have to fear that when you're with me. You understand?" His tender eyes hold my gaze, awaiting a response.

"I believe you."

A soft smile appears on his face. Negan leans down and presses a delicate kiss to my temple before returning to his seat.

His words seemed sincere and true, but things are not adding up…

"What is it now, pup?" Negan asked, noticing my inner dilemma.

"You don't condone rape, but still expect me to have sex with you?"

"You are my wife now, aren't ya?" He happily retorts. "I believe that it's one of your duties now."

"But you just said that I didn't have to!"

"Hold up! I said that I wouldn't force you to have sex with me. That won't be necessary because you're going to warm up to me sooner or later. I mean, you were fucking coming undone the other night just from a little massage! I'm willing to wait." He winks.

Note to self – always read the fine print when it comes to Negan. Things aren't always so cut and dry.

He's lost his damn mind if he thinks I'm going to willingly sleep with him!

Negan turns the key, roaring the truck back to life. "Deny it all ya want, darlin', but I'm going to have you begging for this dick soon enough." His comment only earns a 'huff' from me.

With that, Negan puts the truck in drive and resumes our journey back to the Sanctuary.

Let my new life begin….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Spitfire47.
> 
> Things just got interesting! Any thoughts? I appreciate all of your comments and input! Thanks for reading!


	15. Chapter 15

"Wake up, pup. We're home."

I uncurl from my balled-up position and slowly open my groggy eyes. The warehouse stands before us, illuminated by the searchlights on the perimeter fence. I turn to see a pair of headlights pull in behind us. It must be Simon and Dwight.

I squeeze my eyes shut and utter a silent prayer before reopening them, as if doing so would change what I saw, that what has transpired is only a nightmare that will all be over once I open my eyes again.

The same worn building fills my line of sight yet again. The nightmare is my reality.

Negan jumps out and places Lucille in his belt loop before coming around to the passenger door to retrieve me. I'm unable to unbuckle or exit the vehicle on my own, due to my wrists still being tightly bound behind my back.

He reaches across my petite body and unhooks the seat belt. His hand faintly trailing over my breast as he retracts the belt from across me. I flinch, watching him find any excuse to cop a feel.

"What? I'm just lending a hand." He responds to my warning look before guiding me out of the truck.

Negan utters a few parting remarks to Simon and Dwight before ushering me into the Sanctuary. He is careful to keep a steadied grip on my forearm when climbing the stairs to his domain, helping me in maintaining my balance. The hold is momentarily released long enough for him to unlock the apartment door.

I'm caught off guard when he doesn't grab me again, but instead, bends down and effortlessly hauls me into his arms.

"What are you doing?" I demand.

"Last time I checked, it was customary for the new wife to be carried over the threshold," he grins. Practically bouncing in delight as he carries me into the apartment.

I try to lean away from the embrace but Negan only pulls me closer, plastering me against the cool leather of his jacket.

Its intriguing how I tend to end up in his arms after a paramount event in our 'relationship.' First, it was after the introduction with Lucille, then after the ironing, and finally, after his proposal of sorts. Each instance marked a time when my eyes were opened, in a way, to another dimension of Negan. What could that mean for this instance?

I'm relieved to be on my feet and out of his arms once we reach the lounge area of his bedroom. I sit in the farthest seat possible as Negan quickly fetches the first aid kit from his dresser drawer. It had previously been kept in the hallway linen closet but was quickly relocated to the bedroom after my frequent 'injuries'.

Negan unsheathes his knife and slides the serrated edge against the restraints, severing them in two.

He raises a questioning eyebrow as he gently inspects the open wounds. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't recall you being handled rough enough to cause these hellacious gashes. Was someone pulling at their restraints?"

"Maybe a little…."

"A little my ass! You practically embedded the damn things into your wrists! You need to work on that anger of yours, pup," Negan chastises, shaking his head in displeasure.

My instinct is to fire back at him that me pulling against the zip-ties were, in fact, an example of controlling my anger. The self-infliction of pain was the only thing that could block out my rising aggravation towards Negan on our ride back. If it weren't for that, I have no doubt that I would've mouthed off to a degree that would've resulted in a severe reprimand from Negan.

However, just as I did in that moment, I don't dare say what's on my mind. So instead, choosing to keep my lips synched shut for a change.

Negan sits me down and begins the all too familiar process of cleaning out my wounds. I notice him peer up at me from time to time, as if waiting for me to speak up about the unaddressed elephant in the room. But I remain silent.

Negan found a way to outsmart me. Just when I thought I was gaining ground and beginning to understand how he operated, things get turned on its head yet again. I can't help but feel like I'm back at square one – I don't know my place and I must now endure his antics as he forcibly moulds me into whatever he wishes me to be.

The thought causes a lone, frustrated tear to fall, which doesn't go unnoticed by Negan.

"Hey, there's no need for that." The pad of his thumb traces over the damp streak on my cheek. He pauses, gauging my reaction, before taking it a step further by grazing the digit over my lips.

I flinch away from the contact and angrily swat his hand away. The action visibly pissing him off.

He's quick to grab my arm in a vice-grip, squeezing the limb enough to cause a noticeable discomfort. A hand grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him straight on.

"I was going to break down my new expectations for you tonight, but I see that someone needs some time to chill the fuck out. I'll let that little show of defiance slide for tonight, but you need to get your shit together real fast. We'll start fresh tomorrow. Now, what do you say?" Negan cocks his head to the side and displays a toothy grin. His grip tightens on my arm when I don't immediately respond.

"Th-thank you!" I whimper as the pain reached a near unbearable level.

Satisfied by my response, Negan releases me and finishes bandaging my wounds. He also looks over the abrasions on my knees from being forced to kneel on the rough ground, along with inspecting my neck for any bruising from sustaining multiple forceful pulls on the collar from Dwight.

"Eh, you'll be fucking fine." Negan lowers the collar back into place around my neck, having raised it slightly to get a better look.

In this position, I anticipate to feel another wayward grope but he surprisingly backs away and goes to reorganize the first aid kit.

I gladly take that as my cue to get ready for bed. I want nothing more than to have a few hours of bliss, especially knowing that tomorrow will be the start to our new arrangement.

Negan stays true to his word and gives me space for the remainder of the night so that I could 'chill the fuck out.'

"Wife duties start tomorrow." He happily reminded me as he snapped the chain into place on my collar. "Good night, wife."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I awaken to a startling surprise.

Daylight is spilling through the blinds. The clock on the nightstand reads 8:45 AM.

What the hell is going on? Negan has never allowed me to sleep this late. I'm usually up at least an hour before sunrise fixing his breakfast.

Things become even more peculiar when I notice that Negan is not in bed and that the chain is unhooked from the collar.

This doesn't make any sense.

I rise from my bed and move towards the bedroom door to investigate.

When I step into the hallway, I'm met with the intoxicating aroma of fresh bacon. My nose leads me to the kitchen where I stumble across Negan perched over a sizzling pan of bacon. His back is to me, giving me an opportunity to observe.

He is still clad in the white t-shirt and black sweatpants that he slept in, his usual slicked-back mane is tousled with pieces sticking out in various directions.

I spot a skillet of scrambled eggs on the back burner of the stove. It smells like there were biscuits in the oven as well.

I almost can't believe what I'm witnessing. One, Negan is never upstairs at this time of day, especially still dressed in his pajamas. Once he leaves at dawn, I don't typically see him again until noon. Two, who knew that the man knew his way around the kitchen? Apparently, he does know how to use the countless pots and pans in his possession.

"Dream on, dream on, dream on. Dream until your dream come true.' Negan bobs his head as he sings along to the rock tune on the radio. He removes the last few pieces of bacon from the pan and turns to place the platter of pork onto the island, at which point, he spots me.

"Good morning, my dear wife! I hope you're hungry." Negan motions toward the spread of food. "I made a shit ton of stuff!"

"What's the occasion?" I ask, though having already figured out the answer as soon as I spoke.

"I figured I would treat ya since it's our first full day as husband and wife. Why don't you go sit your pretty ass down? Pancakes will be done in a jiffy!"

I do as I'm told, taking a seat at the kitchen table. To my credit, I was able to avoid visibly cringing at his mentioning of 'husband and wife'; remembering his warning from last night about getting onboard with the new program.

"By the way," Negan interjects over his shoulder while flipping pancakes, "I took today off so that I could spend the entire time with you! We're going to have such an amazing fucking time!"

I'm lucky that he couldn't see my melancholy expression from his position in the kitchen. That would've resulted in a guaranteed reprimand.

A few minutes later, Negan proudly presents me a plate filled with bacon, eggs, buttermilk biscuits, and pancakes adorned with a blueberry smiley face.

He plops down in the chair across from with his own plate of food. "Dig in!"

I hesitate at first. Still leery towards the stark contrast in his demeanor compared to yesterday at the factory. It doesn't help that the meal is just another power play when it comes to me being his wife.

My resolve soon fades as the mouth watering aroma of the food overpowers any apprehensions. The first bite nearly causes my eyes to roll into the back of my head in pure satisfaction. The second and third bites send my palate on an incredible journey that I wish would never end. I've had good tasting food while here at the Sanctuary, that I prepared by the way, but it makes it more enjoyable when you're not the one preparing the feast.

"Damn, baby, if I had known that some good tasting food would get you undone like that, I'd have cooked for you sooner and sped this process along weeks ago!

I set my fork down, suddenly not hungry anymore, although there is still over half a plate of food in front of me. He just had to open his big mouth again.

"What's the process? What is it that you expect from me? I mean, I've practically been your personal slave for the past month and now you want me to be your wife?" I struggle to keep my tone levelled.

Negan groans in annoyance, pushing his plate to the side. "There goes the nice fucking breakfast…. Let me break it down for you, darlin'.'

'It's pretty simple – I give daddy a longer leash and pray that he doesn't find a way to hang himself with it. But I need something in return for being so generous, after all, I won't be getting as much money each week from now on. That's where you come in.' I can't help but shiver from the look he gives me.

'You see, it's been fucking amazing having you here with me this past month or so. You've really spoiled me, considering that I come home every night to a clean apartment and home cooked meals! I'm only asking for a little bit more from ya to compensate the shit from your father."

"'More,' as in sleeping with you?"

"That's certainly one hell of a perk about all of this!" Negan's smile all of a sudden fades. His brow furrows in seriousness. "But, only when you're ready"

"What if I don't want to?"

"Then the deal is off. You, in a way, hold all the power in this big dance we have going on. You keep me happy, I continue to show mercy to daddy. But, if you don't keep your end of the agreement, daddy gets what he had coming to him, plus more. Now, I know that is a mighty, big nasty pill to swallow, but swallow it you most certainly will! Do you really have much of a choice at this point?’

I cover my face with my hands, overwhelmed by the new pressure placed on me. I can't fathom the fact that the lives of my father and I rest nearly entirely on my shoulders and my ability to please Negan.

He reaches out and caresses my arms. "It won't be that bad, pup! You have some perks too, if you show me that you're giving it your all. For starters, you get to enjoy my king-sized bed as opposed to the fucking floor, wives don't get chained to the bed – unless they're into that shit –," he adds with a wink. "And wives get pampered from time-to-time. I make more than enough cash in one fucking day to get you whatever your little heart desires. You want a new Redskins jersey for being so damn good? Done! You want some books to keep you occupied? I can do that.'

'I expect a lot from the people below me, but I treat them like fucking kings when they deliver. You bet your ass that I will treat you like a queen if you cooperate."

When I don't respond, Negan gently guides my hands off my face and places them in his. Softly rubbing the back of my knuckles.

"If you try, I'll try. I give you my word. Do you believe me?" His hazel eyes search mine for approval.

"I want to… but…" I can't finish the sentence. His words seemed sincere, but I can't bring myself to fully trust him. His actions have proven that he would say or do anything to get his way. What's to say that he isn't just telling me what I want to hear in order to further get what he wants?

I expect Negan to get angry with me, but he only lowers his head and exhales a heavy breath. Releasing my hands, he silently gathers our dirty dishes and returns to the kitchen to tidy his mess.

When he doesn't command me to join him in the cleaning, I reluctantly take the initiative to do so on my own, assuming it fell under one of my new expectations as a wife.

Negan stops me before I can even grab a dishtowel. "I got this. Go do whatever the fuck you want." He pushes me aside to get to the dishes on the island, not even bothering to make eye contact as he spoke to me.

"But you said –."

He slams a plate down onto the island, breaking it in two. "And now I'm saying that I don't need you right now. Do as you're fucking told! Go!"

I tuck tail and sprint out of the kitchen towards Negan's room, wanting to be as far away from his boiling temper as possible.

I shut the bedroom door and take refuge in the leather armchair. For once, I take the opportunity to gaze out the window directly beside me. The view overlooking the rear portion of the Sanctuary grounds. There isn't much to see besides the parked vehicles belonging to the Saviors on duty. However, the bleak scenery is enough to still my summersaulting mind, allowing me to begin to digest my inner thoughts and dilemmas.

I must give the man credit; he's a manipulative son of a bitch who knows how to play the game. He's figured out a way to get everything he wants – money, control, and now me. His conditions have forced me to reevaluate my positions on certain things. I realize that in order to keep him 'happy,' there is no way to avoid the inevitable…. I'm not proud of that decision, nor do I look forward to it, but in the end, it's a small sacrifice to make to ensure the safety of my father and I. God, give me strength when that moment arrives….

The piece of the puzzle that I am struggling most with, is his empty reassurances that I, in some way, will also gain a few comforts and pleasures for my commitment to him. Negan can call it whatever he wants, but in the end, I'm still his prisoner and he's still my captor. I've been living with the man for over a month, all the while cleaning, cooking, and tending to other duties.

Even with my daily, tedious chores, he has never brought up the notion of any kind of reward for my cooperation even though I constantly give 110%. Sure, I was allowed to see my father on one occasion, but that was a reward for his actions, not mine. Suddenly, Negan changes my title to 'wife' and I'm supposed to be convinced that magically means that he will change his way of doing things? I call bullshit on that.

I'll do what he wants, but don't insult my intelligence. That's like feeding me a pile of dog shit, then changing the name of it to 'premium' dog shit, and expecting me to believe that I'm now eating better quality shit when you're, in fact, feeding me the exact same damn thing.

Call it what it is, Negan, that's all I ask.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

An hour or so later, I hear a light knock on the door. Negan slowly enters, testing the waters to gauge my reactions after breakfast. Seeing that I'm more composed and level headed, he proceeds to sit in the chair across from me. He too, appears to have calmed down significantly.

"I just wanted to come check up on you. Our conversation didn't end on a good fucking note back there. That blowup wasn't planned, by the way." He adds with a chuckle. "But, just think about what I said, okay? Give me a chance to show you. I've told you before that there is more to me than what you see," Negan pleads, something that I've never witnessed from him.

I'm still not fully convinced, but the fact that he came seeking my approval again spoke volumes. I expected his actions to mirror that of when I rebuffed his sexual advances the other week. He does seem to fly off the handle whenever a situation doesn't go his way. Yet, that isn't happening now.

"I'll try, if you try." It's an answer laced with skepticism, but an answer nonetheless.

"Atta girl!" Negan beams at my response. He reaches out and gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.

Without another word, Negan stands to his feet, shuffles to his dresser, and starts pulling out clothes to change into. I don't think anything of it until he pulls out his red scarf; something that is only worn when he journeys outside of the Sanctuary.

"Wait, where are you going? I thought that you were staying home today?" I question as he's stepping into the bathroom to get ready.

"Yeah, about that," he sighs and rubs the back of his neck, "I'm sorry, but something came up, doll."

I'm not able to get in a reply before he abruptly shuts the bathroom door.

I knew it. So much for 'give me a chance to show you.' How can he expect me to take him at his word when he does shit like this when it's only the first day?

I'm still seething when he reappears, groomed and dressed with the crimson fabric draped around his neck.

"Simon will be in the other room. He'll get you whatever the fuck you want while I'm gone." Lucille is retrieved from her spot against the wall. Everything is in order for him to leave.

"Whatever," I mutter as he exits the bedroom. No longer even attempting to disguise the fit I was in.

The door was almost shut when Negan stops and takes a small step back into the room. Not even bothering to turn in my direction.

"Just give me a chance." He utters.

With that, he eases the door shut, leaving me alone.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You doing alright, princess?"

This is the third time that Simon has checked up on me. I'm assuming Negan asked him to do so periodically because the lieutenant had never bothered to do so any other time.

I haven't left the bedroom since Negan departed a few hours ago. I just needed time alone.

I flash a small smile. "I'm fine, Simon. Thanks."

"Just holler if you need anything. I imagine that your hubby should be home soon." He winks before exiting.

'My hubby'…. That's certainly something that I must get used to.

The past few hours have been spent thinking and pacing the floor, two actions that I've done plenty of since being brought to the Sanctuary. It seems to be the only other activity there is besides cleaning. Negan doesn't own a single book and watching TV is out of the question. Negan has a TV in the living room but he admitted that he doesn't know why he bought one in the first place since he doesn't have time to enjoy it. I sure as hell wasn't allowed to use it.

I got it – I'll ask Negan to purchase a few books that I could read in my spare time. Who knows, I may be allowed to watch TV as a perk of being a wife!

The thought of that actually happening causes me to laugh out loud.

The only true privilege that I see Negan keeping his word on is allowing me to sleep in his bed. I'm truthfully dying to feel my body sink into the plush king-sized mattress. Who can blame me after sleeping on a few thin blankets on the hard floor for over a month? Adding the fact that I won't be chained anymore doesn't hurt either.

It's just a matter of getting over the fact that he will be in bed with me….

I cease my pacing, my eyes falling onto the object in question. The bed is still unmade from this morning. The thick, black comforter is half falling off the bed, pillows lay bunched up by the headboard, and the cotton sheets are starting to come off the mattress.

Now seems like a good time as any to start my wifely duties.

I strip the bed of its linens with the idea of simply replacing them with a clean set. It's too bad that Negan doesn't own a second set. This was realized after I had spent twenty minutes sifting through the linen closet, coming up empty handed.

I had no other choice but to wash what was already on his bed.

After a few hours, and once the final pillow was fluffed into place, I collapsed onto my back on the freshly scented linens. The memory foam mattress cradled my exhausted frame, easing the strain on my neck and back from sleeping on the floor for so long. I snuggled against the plush comforter, relishing in it's soothing softness. I can get used to this.

I'm temporarily pulled from the ecstasy of comfort when a light knock is heard on the bedroom door.

I prop up on my shoulder, presuming it to be Simon making his hourly checks.

Negan's smiling face greets me instead. He's propped against the doorframe, taking in the sight before him.

"Damn, darlin', you look mighty comfortable! Doesn't feel half bad, does it?"

"Let's just say that I see why you sleep so well." I run my hands across the comforter, smoothing it out from where I was laying.

"I'm going to sleep even better knowing that you're in it with me, right?" He crosses his arms over his chest.

My head nods as our eyes meet, showing him that I was being honest.

Negan's eyes soften at once. "Glad to hear it, darlin'. That's a step in the right direction.'

'This may sound crazy, but I need you to close your eyes. I've got a little surprise for you."

My eyes widen in worry and I can feel my heart rate quicken in my chest. Negan's idea of surprises aren't ones to be desired. His last surprise, the collar, is still strapped around my neck. What on Earth could he have up his sleeve now?

Not wanting to agitate him, I take a deep breath and force my eyes shut. Only when they are fully closed, do I hear Negan's heavy boots shuffle into the room.

"Open."

My hands fly over my mouth in pure shock at what I saw. I instantly recognize the object in Negan's hands.

A Martin guitar. Not just any Martin guitar, but one made of Maple with a glossy finish. A guitar that mirrors that of my mother's that my father was forced to part with as a way of earning enough money for Negan's payments.

"Oh my gosh…" I sob through my hands. I'm in absolutely awestruck.

Negan places the instrument in my lap, allowing me to get a better look at it. That is when I notice there is a deep scratch situated just below the bridge.

That's odd, mom's guitar had a similar indentation… Can it be….?

No. That's impossible.

I think back and remember that her guitar also had a nick on its neck from where I had mishandled the instrument as a child.

I hesitantly turn the guitar over and glide my fingers over the neck, feeling for the possible abrasion.

I freeze when my fingers trace over a half inch gash in the wood in the same exact spot as that on my mother's guitar.

This isn't just a similar model of guitar.

It is my mother's guitar.

I wrap the wood in my arms, holding it to my chest as my tears dampen its surface. I thought that I would never see it again, believing that a part of my mother was gone forever.

Joy doesn't do this moment justice.

Without even thinking, I place the guitar on the bed, stand to my feet, and wrap my arms around Negan in an emotional embrace.

He stiffens at first in surprise at the sudden contact, but his arms slowly drape around me, accepting the hug.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" My words are muffled from my face being pressed into his chest from the embrace. The joyful sobbing sure as hell isn't helping either.

Negan rests his chin on the top of my head and squeezes me closer to him. "Anything to show you that I meant what I said earlier. Your happiness matters in this arrangement, too. Do you believe me now?" I'm released as he holds me at arms length, awaiting a response.

There is no need to force my next statement. Negan went above and beyond what I would ever expect from him just to gain my trust and favor.

"After what you just did for me? Yes, I believe you, Negan."

Subtle dimples appear on his cheeks from his wide smile.

After a moment, he lowers his arms and sits on the bed, placing the guitar in his lap.

"You know, it took me all damn day to track this beauty down." He runs the palm of his hand along the Maple finish, admiring the craftsmanship.

I take a seat next to him on the bed. "How did you know?"

Negan knows about what happened to my mother, but I never once mentioned the guitar in any way.

"Remember the visit with daddy?"

I remember now – my father had mentioned during the visit that he was left with no other choice but to sell the guitar. Negan was present at the time and must have overheard our conversation.

"He talked about it too. Your old man was a fucking mess the week that he sold it. He told me all about how much it meant to you and him, trying to get me to feel sorry for him and cut him some slack.' He extends the guitar towards me, insinuating for me to take it, which I do.

'I knew when I saw that look in your eyes this morning that it was going to take a lot to show you that I wasn't bullshitting you. I knew what I had to do. So, I made a few calls and after an entire day of visiting a shit ton of pawnshops in a fifty-mile radius, I found it."

I can't believe it. Negan did all of that for me? He would've had better odds finding a needle in a haystack than locating a specific Martin guitar before it was resold by the shop. Yet, he succeeded.

My head drops in shame as the realization hits me – I hurled so much attitude towards Negan earlier for what I thought to have been a viable reason, when he was actually out performing a selfless duty for me.

"So, when you appeared to be going to work and skipping out on me…? I mutter, already knowing the answer.

"Yep, I was out there busting my ass just to prove to you that I wasn't a fucking ass. It's kinda ironic that you were actually the one being the ass!" Negan snickers, playfully smacking me on the shoulder.

Damn. The shoe is on the other foot for a change.

"Oh, don't feel bad, sweetheart! How were you supposed to know that I was going to surprise you with the one thing that means more to you than life itself?' Negan's smile fades when he sees the regret radiating off my face. Realizing that the idea of having misjudged him to such an extreme affected me.

'Look, if you feel that bad about it, how about you give me something in return to make up for it?' Negan removes his leather jacket and lays back on the massive mattress, hands situated behind his head.

'Sing me a song."

I stare at him in bemusement

"What?"

"Sing me a song," he repeats in an authoritative tone. "I spent all God damn day fetching that guitar for you, so now I want to kick off my boots and relax while you serenade me. Consider this your punishment for giving me a fucking attitude earlier."

"I don't know what to sing –."

"Bullshit! What did your dad used to play for you in the car?" He turns his head and peers at the guitar in my hands. His temper calms. "What's something that your mama used to play for you? Play something that she would enjoy."

This is one punishment that I can tolerate.

I rest the body of the guitar against my leg and situate my fingers along the fretboard. The all too familiar sensation of the strings grazing my fingertips sends me back to the nights when my mom and I would spend hours playing together. We would take turns performing our favorite songs, all of which were country songs by classics such as Conway Twitty, George Jones, Hank Williams, and Keith Whitley. Out of all those artist, my mom had a soft spot for Garth Brooks. She especially adored his rendition of 'To Make You Feel My Love.'

The melody would effortlessly flow from her lips to raise my spirits during the times when my little heart was shattered in two, whether it was from a bruised knee or after a challenging day.

I close my eyes and can immediately feel her with me. The chord patterns come naturally to me as I begin strumming the ballad.

"When the rain is blowing in your face and the whole world is on your case, I could offer you a warm embrace to make you feel my love…~'

Each word sung carries with it the memory of my mother. By the second verse, my voice waivers as I try to fight back the tears, but to no avail.

I open my eyes when I feel the bed shift. Negan stretches towards his nightstand and retrieves a box of tissues.

"Don't stop, darlin'. You sound wonderful. Let all that painful shit flow out, so that all is left to fill your mind is your mother's memory." He hands me a tissue and re-situates on the bed once I've composed myself.

I take a deep breath and continue.

'There ain't nothing that I wouldn't do. I'd go to the ends of Earth for you, to make you happy, make your dreams come true, to make you feel my love~."

Having strummed the final chord, I whisper a silent message to my mom, knowing that she is near.

We stay there in silence. Letting the moment play out before us.

"Your mom had a damn good taste in music," Negan whispers. His eyes remain closed from where he was listening to me play.

I can't help but chuckle at his comment. "That's only the tip of the iceberg. There is more where that came from." I playfully strum a few chords.

"Don't worry, there will be plenty of time for an encore, and you best believe that I'm going to take you up on it!"

With that, Negan shimmies off the mattress and heads towards his dresser to change into his sweatpants for bed.

I give the guitar one final embrace before laying it against an armchair. Even after putting it down, my hand lingers on the wood, part of me not wanting to let it go.

Negan comes up behind me and gently eases my hand off the guitar. "It's not going anywhere, I promise."

I nod my head and turn towards the bed. Pulling back the comforter and sheet, I wiggle underneath the linens and wait for Negan to turn off the light.

Negan stands at the foot of the bed in bewilderment.

"I thought that I was going to have to threaten you to get your ass in that bed with me! Here you go, settling on down like you've been sleeping there for years." His smirk reappears as he shakes his head. "You never cease to amaze me, darlin'."

"Like you said in the beginning, 'If you try, I'll try.' You stayed true to your end of the deal, now it's my turn to do the same."

Negan pushes the covers back and slides into bed before turning off the light.

"Good night, sweetheart," Negan mumbles into the darkness. Sleep already beginning to creep up on him.

I turn over onto my side closest to Negan. Propping myself up on my elbow, I lean towards his shadowed form and deliver a peck onto his cheek.

"Good night, Negan. Thank you, again, for today."

Returning to my side of the bed, I snuggle into the mattress and begin to drift off to sleep.

I'm sure that Negan will have a reply to that in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Spitfire47.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope that you guys enjoyed the update.
> 
> Any thoughts? I'd love to hear from you!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 16 is finally here! Thank you for being patient, guys! I wasn't able to find much time to write over the past few weeks due to work and starting two summer courses. After three long weeks, here it is! Enjoy :)

_ Sirens blare around me. The strobing red and blue lights from the emergency vehicles dance across the tress lining the rural road. The smell of burnt rubber and smoke mingles together in the crisp night air. Shattered glass and debris litter the pavement beneath my feet. _

_ Blurred silhouettes of EMTs and firefighters dart past me in their frantic rush towards two mangled, hunks of metal a few yards away. _

_ The first vehicle appears to be the remains of a SUV. The front end and its mechanics resemble a crushed aluminum can with the engine cavity having been pushed nearly into the cab of the vehicle. With that amount of damage, this vehicle had to hit the other head-on at an excessive speed. _

_ My attention is drawn to the other vehicle in question as the majority of the workers flock to its side. Unlike the first, the second car was struck square on the driver's door. The collision causing the car to flip multiple times before settling on its roof in a ditch. The workers hack and pull against the vehicle, struggling to create a wide enough opening in the torn metal to free a lone occupant. _

_ Even though the car is practically unrecognizable from the wreck, something about it sparks a feeling of familiarity. I can't explain it, but I feel as if I know that car, that I've ridden in it before. _

_ I hesitantly take a step forward to get a better view of the vehicle through the congested mass of workers. They appear oblivious to my presence, not so much as batting an eyelash at the sight of a civilian approaching an accident scene during a rescue. _

_ Before I reach the wreckage, something catches my eye. In the grass a couple of yards away from the scene is a purse with its contents strewn over the area. It must have gotten thrown from the summersaulting car. _

_ I spot a canister of breath mints, a shattered cell phone, and a makeup bag – items that you would expect to find in a women's purse. However, a wave of recognition flows through me once again, as it did upon first seeing the car. _

_ Puzzled, I bend down next to the purse and rifle through it for anything that could explain my current feeling. _

_ Ah ha – a wallet! _

_ Expired gift cards and worn receipts are tossed aside until my fingertips graze the plastic edge of a driver's license. I hold the card up, squinting in the darkness to decipher the name. _

_ Elizabeth Rachel Owens. _

_ The flimsy plastic rattles in my trembling hands as my eyes travel from that to the upside-down car, where firefighters have finally managed to force open the vehicle and remove the bloodied body of a woman. _

_ My mother. _

_ Time slows as I jump to my feet and sprint towards the growing circle of medical personnel surrounding my mother's unresponsive form. _

_ Despite my pace, I just can't seem to get to her. It feels as if there is a physical force holding me back. I fight against it with all my strength, practically crawling on the ground to reach my mother, but invisible arms lock around my torso, holding me in place as her image begins to slip away from view. _

_ "Mom! Mom!" I screech into the darkness. Reaching my arm forward in a desperate attempt to get to her, even though the distance begins to grow between us. Her lifeless form eventually fading into the darkness. _

"Nooooooo!"

My entire body violently jerks, the tail end of the scream still on my lips.

The ear-piercing sirens have been replaced with an eerie silence. My sight, no longer blinded by the rhythmic, flashing lights of the emergency vehicles, scans my surroundings to gain a sense of orientation. The overwhelming darkness doesn't do much in aiding my endeavors.

Am I still dreaming, or is it finally over?

I hold my breath, waiting for the nightmare to continue, expecting to see my mother's broken body reappear before me. For the madness to resume.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Relief washes over me at the realization that the reality-mirroring nightmare was no more.

The feeling is short lived upon feeling an unknown force tightening around my torso, slightly pulling me back. My arms and legs flail in panic, attempting to escape its clutches.

Shit – I'm still dreaming! Whatever this is, it's still trying to prevent me from reaching my mother.

The more I fight, the more the invisible hold increases at subduing me.

I blindly jab my elbow towards the direction of the unknown aggressor, feeling the point of the joint connect against something hard. The blow stuns them enough to release me, allowing me to roll away in the opposite direction. I'm startled when the ground suddenly disappears from under me, giving me the sensation of free falling for the slightest of moments before landing hard on the ground.

I've nearly gotten to my feet, ready to flee, when a wave of light floods the space, blinding and disorienting me on the spot.

"Motherfucking Christ! What the fuck!" Negan hisses. His voice hoarse from sleep.

Once my eyes adjust to the light, I notice that I am crouched next to Negan's bed, and not in the middle of an accident scene as I had previously thought. Negan sits on the side of the bed from having turned on the lamp, hand rubbing the side of his temple. His face contorted into a painful grimace.

"You care to explain why you're throwing elbows in the middle of the God damn night like it's the UF-fucking-C?" Negan slowly states through gritted teeth, shooting me an ominous look. "And it better be a damn good one."

I struggle to find words. Absolutely mortified that I had mistakenly struck Negan while in my disoriented state.

"I-I wasn't, uh. I d-didn't mean –." 

"If you don't spit it the fuck out, I swear to motherfucking God…." Negan runs his hands through his already messy hair in frustration.

"I was having a bad dream and I thought that I was being grabbed by something. So, I started to fight back, but apparently, I wasn't actually dreaming like I had thought previously." I pause and take a deep breath from having rattled off the explanation at record speed. "That's when I must've hit you... I was scared and very much out of it. Please don't be mad." I advert my eyes, too afraid to meet his burning glare, knowing that he was livid with me. I can't fathom the punishment that will stem from this.

Negan considers my reasoning before releasing a sigh. He raises his hand and beckons me to join him where he is sitting with his back against the headboard.

"So, bad dream, huh?" Negan questions once I'm situated by his side. "Must've been some crazy shit for you to go all Jackie Chan on me."

"That's one way of putting it." I mumble. Still dazed and rattled from the nightmare.

"Why don't you come sit on my lap and tell me all about it?"

I disregard Negan's advance, keeping my gaze downcast.

"Come on. What was it about? I mean, is this going to be a nightly thing? Cause, if so, I'm investing in a fucking helmet."

In the back of my mind, I know that he will only keep hounding me for details until I give him something to work with. It's no point in keeping it from him. He would dig out the truth sooner or later.

"There is this one reoccurring dream that I've experienced since my mom passed away. What just happened was only another encore showing of the same painful shit." My hand brushes over my cheek, wiping away a lone tear.

Negan lowers his head. "Damn, I figured it was some heavy shit. You were screaming bloody murder in your sleep. I figured I'd be a good husband and try to calm you down, but you damn near knocked me the fuck out the second my arm got around ya,' he lightly chuckles, tapping the spot where I had struck him.

'Anyways, that shit is no fun. We don't have to say another fucking word about it if you don't want to."

I slowly nod my head in appreciation. I only wish to move on from the nightmare. Trying to explain to Negan the dream itself will only reopen the wounds. What's the point in doing that when there is already guaranteed anguish the next time that I have the nightmare? You get used to the pain after awhile. I would much rather reminisce on the times of joy with my mother than of the heart-wrenching reminders of her loss.

"You know," Negan leans into my personal space and gruffly whispers, interrupting my thought. "I can think of a thing or two that we can do to get your mind off things." His hand drifts towards my thigh, giving it a slow squeeze.

I stop myself from smacking his hand away, remembering his uncomfortable reprimand from the other night. Instead, I settle for a subtle eye roll. "Do you ever think about anything other than sex?"

"Well, right now I'm thinking about what it's going to take to get into your pants. Does that fuckin’ count?" Negan raises an eyebrow. I feel his fingers dance dangerously close to my inner thigh, his actions serving as a nonverbal reiteration of his statement.

I involuntarily tense at the contact and shift my leg away from his touch. Again, I realize that sleeping with Negan is part of the agreement, I just didn't imagine that the moment would come so soon. His forwardness about the whole thing causes my anxiety to spike. Can I do this?

"You gotta give me something to work with, doll." His tone impatient. "Can I at least return the sneaky little peck that you gave me last night?"

A small grin flashes across my face. Of course, he was awake for that small show of appreciation. A kiss doesn't sound like much, especially when compared to what Negan is impatiently waiting for me to give him the green light on.

"One kiss? That's it?" I clarify, knowing that Negan has a way of finding a loophole in every situation.

"One kiss." 

"Okay –." 

I'd barely gotten my response out when Negan snakes an arm around my waist, effortlessly pulling me onto his lap. He situates me so that my legs wrap around his waist, our faces inches apart. One hand steadies me on my shoulder while the other gently caresses my hip, both holding me securely in place. A devilish grin is plastered on his face. 

"What the hell, Negan?" My hands fly to his chest, trying to push him away and create some distance. The sudden invasion of personal space makes me uneasy. Our bodies are close enough that the warmth from each of his steady breaths breeze over my cheeks.

"You said that I could get a kiss. You didn't say that I couldn't get a little creative with it." He takes my arms and guides them off his chest, bringing them to rest around his neck. "There, now, they won't be in the way."

The new position has us perched even closer together. I squirm uncomfortably in his lap. The posture is too intimate. A position reserved solely for lovers, something that isn't even on the same spectrum as Negan and I.

Without another word, Negan leans forward, capturing my lips in his. One hand on the small of my back, pressing me into him, while the other rests under my chin.

I expect a rushed, forceful kiss, but Negan moves at a gentle pace, savoring the taste of my lips. His lips were firm, yet soft all at once – a stark contrast to his aggressive and domineering façade.

Negan's overgrown salt and peppered facial hair prickle against my upper lip and cheek as his lips move in a steady rhythm.

I force myself to do the bare minimum, sporadically moving my lips the slightest against Negan's. My lack of participation only irritates him.

"Pup…" He warns against my lips. The grip on my chin tightening to emphasize his point.

Heading his warning, I begin slowly matching Negan's rhythm, our lips performing a delicate dance. As anticipated, Negan takes the lead, bringing a hand to cup my cheek while his mouth explores mine. I try to mimic his movements, but they come across unsure and hesitant, a cheap imitation of Negan's. No matter how hard I try, I can't hide my forced, almost robotic movements.

Negan suddenly pulls away, leaving me breathless.

"Nope, it's like kissing my fucking mother. Have you even sucked face with someone else before? Locking lips with Lucille's sexy-as-hell barbed wire would have my man juices flowing more than what you have me right now!"

The truth? I had yet to do anything remotely like that with a man. There were a few guys that I had dated in the past, but it was never anything that serious. A kiss here or there. Maybe even a suggestive grab every now and again. But we never reached a point in our relationship where I felt comfortable enough to give into my desires. Either all that was on their mind was getting their dick sucked, or they happened to be a dick.

I'm not about to reveal the truth to Negan. That would only stroke his ego even more to know that he's claimed a 'first' from me, that being my first attempt at making out with a man.

"Yes," I retort, slightly offended. "But it's kinda hard to get intimate with the guy who has almost killed you on multiple occasions."

"Hey, but I didn't kill ya! Don't I get a few fucking brownie points for that?'

'There's your fucking problem – you think too damn much." He lightly taps my forehead. "You need to get over that shit because I expect more enthusiasm from my wife." 

I remove my arms from around his neck, folding them over my chest in aggravation.

"Get over it? You think I don't know that? I'm fucking trying, okay? It's pretty damn clear what you expect from me. I can't help that it is taking me a bit longer to warm up to you considering all the shit that has gone down between us. All of that shit doesn't go away overnight, you know?' Negan opens his mouth to speak, but quickly closes it as I continue.

'I agreed to this arrangement and I'll be true to my word, but don't fucking berate me for my 'lack of enthusiasm' when I'm the one making the sacrifice and bringing new meaning to the phrase 'sleeping with the enemy.'"

I take a deep breath, feeling lighter after releasing a bit of frustration. That relief is short lived when I peer back at Negan. His cold, emotionless stare holds mine as he slowly nods his head.

"Okay."

Negan grabs my shoulder and unceremoniously pushes me off his lap. My arms catch my weight, breaking the fall before landing face-first onto the carpet. Negan yanks on the back of my shirt, pulling me to my feet. His grip remains as he pulls me along, walking with a purpose out of the bedroom.

We enter the living area where he shoves me towards the sofa. Landing half splayed over the piece of furniture, I huddle against the cushions in pure terror, as if pressing further into the couch would open an escape route, ridding me of this situation.

Negan pays me no mind as he shoves the coffee table and armchairs from the middle of the room, lining them against the wall. Thus, creating an open area where the furniture previously sat.

He takes a few strides across the space, getting a feel for the amount of room available to him for whatever he had in mind for me.

Satisfied with the area, he stops, and turns to me. His burning glare a heavy weight on me.

"Here. Now." His gruff voice barely rising above a whisper. Negan points to a spot in front of him.

I keep my eyes downcast as I sulk the few feet to Negan. A dark chuckle rumbles from his chest upon hearing the low whimpers from me, taking delight in my terror.

Like a predator cornering its prey, Negan stalks closer to me until we are toe to toe, the warmth from his body burning against mine. I don't dare retreat, though every muscle in my body protests to, fearing the consequences. He remains there for a moment, entertained by the tremoring figure before him. I freeze as he eases his head down, his lips ghosting over my ear. His steady breaths causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end as I wait for him to speak.

"Hit me." 

My head springs upward. A look of confusion meeting his of absolute seriousness. Did I hear him correctly?

"What?"

"Fucking hit me." Negan backs away and extends his arms out from his sides, leaving his face and body vulnerable. "You obviously have some pent-up shit that you need to get off your chest. Now, I'm no God damn shrink, but I do know that hitting shit can take care of a lot of those issues. Why do you think I have Lucille? If that's what's stopping you from jumping on my dick, do whatever you gotta do to get this out of your damn system."

Mouth agape, I'm truly speechless. I had prepared myself for an unimaginable punishment after what I had said to Negan, never anticipating something like this.

"I can't –." 

"Jesus Christ," Negan lowers his arms in agitation. "Don't tell me that you haven't wanted to punch my fucking teeth down my throat at least once since I've dragged your ass here. Hell, even my own men wanna pop a bullet in me from time to time!"

I take a step away from him. Shaking my head, leery of the whole situation. I can't help, but wonder if this is a trap. That the second I take him up on his offer, he would have a valid excuse to rain down his wrath upon me.

"No, I won't do it." I back away one more step. Negan responds by taking a threatening step towards me.

"Why doesn't this surprise me? You know, you're just like your fucking father – you pussy out when you get a chance to deal with your problems head on. See, he acted all high and mighty until I came a knocking. Then what? The bitch fucking rolled over when faced with the opportunity to stand up to me like a God damn man. And what about you, huh?' Negan steps forward, lightly jabbing me on my shoulder.

'I'm giving you the opportunity of a fucking lifetime to settle your grievances against me, and you pull the same shit as your daddy. Pussiness must run in the family. Like father, like daughter, I guess?" Negan sneers. He shoves my shoulder again, a bit more forceful this time, causing me to slightly rock backwards.

"Negan, stop!" 

This is getting out of hand.

"Or what? You gonna do something about it, sweetheart?" Negan leans forward and places a hand on my shoulder, using most of his body weight to propel me backwards, sending me sprawling onto the floor.

I wince from the impact, having landed hard on my back. 

"Stop it! I'm done playing your sick game!"

Negan crouches in front of me with a shit eating grin plastered on his face.

"You know, your dad said the exact same thing to me before he went MIA twenty years ago. You sounded just like him. Hell, you even give me the same God damn stink eye that he does! Damn,' Negan stares into space, appearing to recollect on the 'fond' memories with my father, 'it just tickles my balls to think that maybe it wasn't so bad after all that your pops skipped town on me all those years ago. If it weren't for that, I'd never become acquainted with your fine ass.' Negan pauses before leaning in closer. 

'Then again, maybe I would've had an opportunity to shack up with the real Mrs. Owens if daddy had confronted me like a man decades ago. Shit, I would've gotten his ass out of the picture and Mrs. Owens would've been Mrs. Negan. Daddy might not have been able to keep his two girls alive and well, but I sure as hell would've. Fuck, you wouldn't have been an only child if I had hooked up with your mom –."

Smack!

Negan's head whips to the side from the impact of my slap, not expecting the blow. I knew that his cheek was stinging like a bitch because my own hand was throbbing from the force of the slap.

"You can talk shit about my father and I all you want, but you keep my mother out of it, asshole!" I growl at him.

His eyes are wide in surprise from the blow, but only for a brief moment. They quickly turn dark as a sadistic grin sweeps across his face.

Did I just fuck up? Part of me prepares for Negan to fire back with a blow of his own.

He only laughs in my face.

"Is that all you got, darlin'? I thought that you were some badass chick who could hang with the boys? Shit, I expected more from someone who enjoys watching men fight for a living." Negan stands to his feet and extends a hand to me. "Show me what you got."

He pulls me to my feet and ushers me back to the middle of the room, before resuming his position in front of me.

"That was a hell of a start, but I'd bet my left nut that there is more in the tank! Get every, last fucking drop of it out now." He extends his arms from his sides. "Think of it as the purge – for the next minute, you can punch, slap, kick, whatever the fuck you want. I won't move a damn muscle. I'm just your personal punching bag."

"You won't punish me for this later?"

"Nope. Now, hurry the fuck up before I change my mind."

I take a deep breath and raise my fists in anticipation for Negan's cue.

He waits until the clock on the wall flickers to a new minute before nodding his head.

"Go."

I cock my arm back and sling my fist forward, my knuckles connecting with Negan's jaw. Negan stumbles a few steps, not expecting such a forceful blow from someone my size. A smart-ass comment is poised to leave his lips when an uppercut plants him on his back, temporarily stunning him.

I storm towards his writhing form, straddle his chest, and grab a fistful of his cotton shirt.

"What the fuck…?" Negan's snarl alone should've been enough to stop me at once, but at this point, the adrenaline pumping through my veins caused it to fall on deaf ears.

"I still have fifty seconds." 

I black out after that. My rage overtaking me as I unleash a barrage of blows to Negan's face. Releasing the mounting anxiety, frustration, irritation, and sorrow that I've kept inside of me for the past month. A violent collage of images flash in my mind, from my first encounter with Lucille, to all of Negan's own transgressions, as well as buried animosity towards my father for causing this.

After what only felt like a few seconds, Negan throws up a hand, blocking my fist that was on a direct path towards his right cheek.

"Time! That's enough! Get the fuck off me!"

I can't hide the smug grin affixed on my face as I rise off a cursing Negan. I lean over and place my hands on my knees, my breathing erratic from my frenzy. The exhaustion a satisfying feeling. The proof to Negan and myself that I put everything I had into each and every swing. I would like to think that I did as I was told, releasing every drop of frustration within me. However, I'll allow my throbbing fists and Negan's already bruising cheek to be the judge of that.

Once on his feet, Negan drags the back of his hand across his bottom lip, wiping away a bit of blood that had trickled from a small cut on his inner lip.

"If I had known that you swung like a fucking man, I'd limited you to thirty seconds." Negan chuckles, holding his jaw. "You look like a damn Chihuahua, but you scrap like a shitfaced Pitbull high on meth."

Though I'm still hunched over, trying to catch my breath, I can't help but slightly puff out my chest in pride at his compliment.

I glance up to see Negan walking towards the kitchen.

"Where the fuck did you learn how to fight like that?" He asks, genuinely curious. Negan rips off a section of paper-towels and presses the torn section against his lip.

I strut into the kitchen with a grin, jumping onto the island. Negan stands right across from me as he patiently awaits my response.

"I was practically one of the boys growing up. They treated me as such, even when we wrestled." My feet playfully swing in front of me. "I learned pretty fast how to take a hit, as well as how to properly dish one out." Nodding towards Negan.

"No shit." Negan displays the slightly bloodied paper-towel. The bleeding having stopped.

I watch as he grabs a glass from the cabinet and proceeds to fill it with water. He quickly rinses the metallic taste of blood from his mouth.

"Feel better?" He asks over his shoulder as he places the glass in the sink.

I nod my head. Negan's unorthodox take on a therapy session left me feeling liberated. Free from the suffocating mix of emotions that had overtaken me the past month.

"Glad to hear it." Negan saunters the gap between us. Only stopping when his thighs brush against my closed knees. He leans against the island, an arm on either side of me, supporting his tall frame as he hovers dangerously close. "How about we give things another go? Prove to me that you can do this now that your head is clear. Because if you can't, especially after the shit I just did for you,' his tone gaining a dark edge, 'then the deal is off –."

"No, I can do this."

I yelp in surprise as my chest crashes against his. Negan having grabbed me by my hips, pulling me to the edge of the island.

His lust filled eyes travel over my form, taking in every inch of me.

Negan lowers his head, his lips ever so lightly brushing against mine.

"In that case, show me what you got, baby." He seductively whispers.

Realizing that he's waiting for me to make the first move, I swallow a final, nervous gulp and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. I feel hands at once begin exploring my body. The unmistakable feeling of skin-on-skin contact as his hands travel underneath my shirt, hungrily roaming over the smooth skin of my back.

His ultimatum cycling through my mind is enough to prevent me from protesting the contact. I go numb, blocking out my own lingering discomforts to focus on the task at hand – keeping Negan satisfied.

I put everything that I have into that kiss – matching Negan's movements tit for tat. He smiles against my lips, pleased with my change in attitude.

Having surpassed his initial expectations, Negan scales things up a notch, trailing a few kisses down my neck. The velvet of his lips paired with the abrasiveness of his stubble sends a wave of pleasure through me unlike any other. Before I realize what I'm doing, I angle my neck back as Negan progresses down my neck, giving him easier access.

Fuck. This is what I was afraid of.

"You like that, darlin'?" Negan hums, slowly kissing his way up the other side of my neck. 

My teeth sink in my lip, not wanting to reveal the ugly truth. 

Negan takes my silence as a challenge. Dipping his head into the crook of my neck, his lips part and press against the sensitive flesh, forming a tight seal. His cheeks hollow as he sucks on my neck, gently at first, then increasing in power until the overstimulation of his lips, along with the massaging hands on my back, causes me to emit a not-so-quiet moan. Negan repeats the movements, eliciting the same response to his delight.

"Someone is enjoying this more than they're letting on…" Negan croons in my ear.

I blush in embarrassment that Negan was able to garner a reaction from me with such little effort.

"This is supposed to be about getting you off, not me." I try to divert his attention off me. Not wanting the lines of my own pleasure and Negan to cross.

"I'm not some selfish asshole-of-a-husband who's gonna leave his bride all sexually flustered like that. I'm gonna make sure that you get plenty out of this too, darlin'. Besides, those sweet sounds of yours is already making my dick twitch. I definitely need more of that."

Negan situates his hands under my hips, lifting me off the counter. 

"Hang on tight."

I do as I'm told. Arms clutching his neck and legs wrapped around his waist. Negan effortlessly carries me into the living area, towards the couch. I'm eased down until my back sinks into the cushions with Negan above me. I'm still clung to him, our bodies moulded against each other. I should've released him by now, but the lingering shock factor of having Negan draped over me, hips pressed against mine, has me slow to respond.

"Now, where were we?"

I try and keep my expression neutral, showing that I don't care for his tactics, but my wide eyes stare back at him dumbfounded. I feel my body react on its' own to his soft, elicit touches. My body arcs slightly as he gently trails his fingers across my curves. Negan grins as he slips his hands under my shirt and touches the bare flesh, causing me to give a long moan as he strokes my curves encouragingly. Another moan nearly escapes my lips but I pull it back in time and disguise it as a cry of pain rather than pleasure. However, my poor attempt goes noticed by Negan who smiles as he continues to kiss me. 

His tongue is dancing in my mouth. It runs along my teeth and touches my tongue, enticing me to play along. I kiss back, darting my own tongue in his mouth and caressing his tongue. I notice that it's considerably easier to kiss him this way than it had before. 

My hands travel across his still clothed back. Even through the material, the heat coming off the man was near burning. A hand travels up and runs through his hair, as if it had a mind of its own. I moan as I try to shift again, Negan takes it as a moan of pleasure and places a hand on my waist, stroking and teasing gently. The other had going through my hair and pulling at the roots in pure lust. My lower body shifts as he positions himself between my legs. 

I feel oddly disembodied as my body act on its own, like I'm an outsider looking in. My mind protests every touch and kiss I return, while my body ignores these warnings completely. 

I bite my lip hard as his fingers press gently against my legs, trailing up my thighs and curving into the groove between my legs. I felt my toes curl instinctively at the sensations and touches. Negan's fingers slip over the waistband of my shorts and boldly straight down, sliding along my smooth bare skin. 

My breath hitches in my throat as I could feel him slowly pull down my pants. The cool air rushing like waves over my hot skin. I shake my head, no...no he's going too fast. I squirm slightly trying to get out, but instead his grip tightens, Negan probably thinks that it's all part of it. 

"S-stop." My shaking voice is barely over a whisper. I could feel my mind connect with my body slowly.

Negan presses his lips against my neck, his face buried as he shimmies my shorts down to my knees. I give him a firm shove, nearly knocking him over the edge of the couch. 

"I said fucking stop!" 

"God fucking dammit pup!" Negan shouts as he gets off angrily. His hands push into me slightly making me wince. I prop myself up off the couch, quickly pulling my shorts up to my waist and watch to see Negan pace like a caged animal, even without Lucille over his shoulder, his dark expression was true. He then stopped and directed his glare straight at me. 

"What the fuck?" he shouts, his arms raising then falling, emphasizing his disbelief at my reaction. 

I opened my mouth ready to speak, but it closed just as fast. I look at the ground as my knees draw to my chest. 

"I-I'm sorry...," I whisper, though barely audible. I unconsciously shudder as I could still feel faint traces along my skin, as if his fingers are still lain against my skin. 

Negan glared at me. "What the hell is going on? And don't you fuckin’ lie!"

"It's not you Negan, I swear," I say giving him an apologetic look. I try to explain, but he cuts me off. 

"I ain't deaf sweetheart," he said, the lustful look returns in his eyes. "I heard those pretty moans, I had you like fucking putty in my hands. You wanted more and I gave you more. So why the fuck would you shut me down like that, right when we were gettin' good?"

I swallow. Drawing in a deep breath, I knew that this was something I could never get away with. As soon as Negan had told me that sex was a part of my 'wifely duties', I knew that the truth would eventually come out. I had tried to play through it, but it was hard, harder than I had expected it to be.

"I'm a virgin."

Silence. I swear that you could hear a pin drop on the other side of the room. 

Negan stood there, slightly taken aback by my sudden honest. He rubs the back of his neck trying to speak, but would then close. He resumed his pacing for a few steps before stopping and turning back to me.

"A virgin?" he questions, "seriously? Fuck, you were kissing me like we were a fucking lost couple not too long ago! And damn those fingers, you were playing me better than the guitar!"

"Making out isn't a problem," I respond. "That...that's fine....It's just the next step, having sex, that's a bit...difficult for me."

Negan looks at me. I could feel the intensity of his eyes, and suddenly I felt as if I were back on my very first day in front of Negan. Small, embarrassed and above all, defenseless. For a brief moment, I thought that he was going to berate me, start hurling his usual insults and eventually call the deal off. That was, until he sat beside me and started to rub my back. 

"Damn wife," he says, his voice was back to it's usual smooth coolness. "You really are just chuck full of surprises ain't ya?"

I don't respond. My arms still wrapped tight around my knees as silent tears fall down my face. I could feel his other hand stroke my cheek, wiping my tears in the process.

"So that's it then? I'm gonna be the first!" Negan exclaims, a large smile on his face. "What a fucking treat!"

I don't know whether to slap or punch him. This time hoping to knock him flat on his ass and out for the next few hours, if that's what it would take for some peace. Instead, I settle for saying and doing nothing, not wanting to wake what lied underneath. 

Negan sees my crestfallen expression and continues to rub my back soothingly. His hand alters between small and medium circles. 

"You have to understand sweetheart that this is part of the deal," Negan reminds. "A deal that you agreed to nonetheless, and in exchange my generosity towards your father is tenfold. Virgin or not, this is sure as fuck not up for debate. Now I understand you’re nervous, and that's natural, but you're gonna have to open up those pretty smooth legs for me."

I remain silent after Negan spoke. In my mind, I knew that I was never going to get out of it. The only way was to revoke my 'choice' and that would mean my father having his body broken by Lucille. 

"Think about it as ripping off a band-aid," he continues. "Gettin' it over and done with all nice an' easy. I promise, as a gentleman, to be gentle and I will ensure that you will enjoy it as well." Negan watches as my expression shifts. It's more than enough for him to fire another round at me. "And if you do this, that collar will be able to come off."

My eyes widen, and Negan grins clearly enjoying my stunned expression.

"Fuck yeah!" he says to my silent disbelief. Negan reaches up and strokes the collar. "Honestly, I'll miss watching your cute ass walk around with it on, but if you have sex with me, I swear to take the collar off."

He gently lifts my chin so I look into his hazel eyes. 

"And you know me for being a man of my word, right?"

I nod.

"So what do you say darlin'?" Negan asks, his hand travelling to the waistband on my shorts.

I drew in a breath. 

"Okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Spitfire47.
> 
> This was another big chapter for Sam. What do y'all think? I'd love to hear! 
> 
> Stay tuned for chapter 17. I can't say for sure when it'll be out, but I'll try to get it updated ASAP. Love you guys!


	17. Chapter 17

My word had barely filled his ears when his lips claim mine, catching me by surprise. Large hands grip my waist, pulling me from my spot on the couch until I was properly re-situated on his lap. I clutch onto the sides of his cotton shirt, for stability, while also pulling our bodies closer together.

At this point, I succumb to my body's natural desires. As much as it churns my stomach to admit it – I want this. Negan is damn near giddy when he noticed his tactics working. I tried to deny it - that his touch alone had me melting into his embrace unlike any other man that I've been with. That for once, I trust him when he says that he will be gentle with me and that for a change, he will take care of me. Here I am in the most vulnerable state that I've been in with the man who has the absolute power to tarnish the lives of my father and I in one fell swoop. This must be done, and I'm okay with that.

"You have no idea how fuckin' long I've waited to hear you say 'yes'," Negan breathlessly spoke in between each fervent kiss. He brings a hand to gently rest on the back of my neck, just below the collar, tilting my head upwards as he traces a line of kisses along my jaw. The abrasiveness of his stubble lightly prickling against my delicate flesh in the process.

Wanting to do a bit of exploring of my own, I reach out and carefully glide my fingertips over Negan's form. It was evident that Negan was a fit man, I just never realized how fit until now. His physique is one that both men and women envy – men aspire to possess a similar build, while women lust for a man such as this. Broad shoulders, taut stomach, and having a firmness to his form that begged to be touched. Even through his shirt, I feel the defined muscles of his body tense and relax under my touch.

Because of my inexperience, I follow Negan's lead, allowing him to set the pace and tone. He stays true to his word, taking things slow and gentle - a stark contrast to the frenzied groping that occurred before the new terms were set. Negan now handled me as if I were a delicate gem that could shatter under the slightest pressure.

I found myself lost in every graze of his fingertips against my sensitive skin as they roamed over me. It's as if my body was a roadmap that Negan knew from end to end. Knowing exactly where to caress, squeeze, or gently pinch to cause a hymn of sweet melodies to spill from me.

Goosebumps dance over my flesh as he brushes his hands down my sides. Negan meticulously follows every dip and curve of my petite form down to my hips, until coming to rest on my backside, a hand palming each clothed cheek. Negan pauses, his eyebrows raised in question – silently gauging my comfort level.

Without hesitation, I intertwine my fingers in his unruly curls, crashing our lips together. Negan is quick to take control, flicking his tongue against my own, enticing me to play his game. I gladly oblige, stroking my tongue against his and occasionally nipping at his bottom lip. I quickly notice the action seemed to spur him on even more.

His grip tightens on my ass as he begins rocking me against himself, grinding his hips and growing bulge against my core with each motion. One hand freely tugs at his locks in pure desire, while the other roams his toned back. The friction from his gyrating alone damn near has me coming undone in his lap. Just as I'm about to find my release, Negan stills beneath me, a sly grin on his face.

"What? I can't have you spoiling your dinner on the damn appetizer," Negan snickers at the pout on my face.

Despite his comments, I know that it won't take much more to send me over the edge. I shamelessly continue my movements against his hips, longing for even an ounce of friction.

_Slap!_

A yelp catches in my throat when Negan's palm connects with my ass, the stinging blow ceasing my movements at once. The action surprising me more than causing any pain.

Negan wags his finger in front of me, shaking his head in disapproval. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Someone is motherfucking impatient, aren't they? My poor pup is so sexually flustered that she practically has to resort to humping my leg to get off." He mocks in a babying manner, lightly pinching my face the way adults do infants.

My cheeks turn as crimson as Negan's scarf in embarrassment. The man has barely touched me and I've lost nearly all control. "So, what is it that you want so badly, hm?" Negan probes. He subtly shifts underneath me, garnering the slightest bit of friction between us two.

I bite my lip in defiance and restraint, stifling back a whimper. Refusing to stroke his ego even more, while also wanting to hang onto the shred of pride that I have left.

Sensing my waiving resolve, Negan continues. "Oh, nothing to say? You know, I think it may have had something to do with this -." On cue, Negan thrusts his hips upward grazing a bundle of nerves deep within me that cascades a wave of pleasure throughout my entire body. He only chuckles when all I can do is utter a string of profanities to keep myself together. I was like putty in his hands, and he knew it.

"Negan…," I plead in impatience and irritation. Of course, he's not playing fair. The sensations that I've felt are like nothing that I've experienced before. I want more. I need more.

A part of me feels like this is payback for all the waiting I forced him to go through. Days of keeping him at bay, even after the agreement was struck for clemency. He wanted me to feel how he had felt, how hard it was for him to be so damn restrained. God damn him!

"Come on, sweetheart, I know you can do better than that. I need you to talk to me. Tell me what you want." Negan cups my cheek, tracing small circles with his thumb as if to coax a sufficient response from me.

I can't will myself to say it. Despite Negan's persistence to bring the words forward, they remain lodged in my throat.

The corner of his mouth raises into a smirk, no doubt enjoying seeing me squirm and internally deliberate the matter. He knows how strong willed I am and that having to verbally affirm what I want from him only bruises my ego even more. Even in this situation, Negan makes sure to assert his control and dominance – he still holds the power.

Negan lounges back into the sofa and places his hands behind his head. "I can do this all damn day," he drawls. Toying with me as I glare back at him.

I release a defeated sigh, knowing damn well that I will never outlast Negan in this standoff. "I want you…," I mutter in frustration. I fold my arms across my chest, sounding more like a whiny child than anything.

Negan quirks an eyebrow and brings a hand forward to cup his ear. "What was that? I didn't fuckin' catch that. How about you try again?"

My initial urge is to roll my eyes, but I don't want to push my luck with the sass. Taking a deep breath, I push aside my pride. Choosing instead to sincerely repeat my comment, remembering that my full cooperation in this matter is a part of the deal as well.

His pearly whites are on proud display from his wicked grin. "Was that so hard?"

Negan leans forward, placing a chaste kiss to my lips. Having heard the magic words, he wraps an arm around my waist and proceeds to stands up. On instinct, I clutch him once again, my head resting on his shoulder.

As the soles of Negan's bare feet pad against the hardwood floors towards the bedroom, my focus redirects to the booming sound of my heart beating in my ears. The erratic thumping no doubt from both anxious anticipation and need. The closer we get to his room, the more real this becomes. It only intensifies when we cross the threshold into his room, my eyes instantly drifting to the bed. Despite the confidence and forwardness I had previously displayed, my muscles absentmindedly tense and cling to Negan even tighter as I fail to hide my apprehension. No matter how hard I try to fight it, the natural insecurities and fears associated with what was about to come wash over me. Feelings that would occur regardless of who my 'partner' was.

"Easy there, sweetheart," Negan soothes in my ear, taking notice of my rising nervousness. He halts upon reaching the bed and tosses the comforter aside, all the while securely holding onto me with his other arm. "I'm just gonna lay you down, okay?" When he hears my hushed reply, I'm lowered onto the middle of his king-sized bed.

I shimmy into a comfortable position on my back. Negan eases down beside me, situating himself to where he's propped up on his side. Not knowing what to do, I focus on steadying my breathing, attempting to suppress my nerves as I wait for Negan's direction. For a moment, we remain there in silence – my concerned eyes meeting his hazel orbs that projected a sense of warmth and tenderness.

Negan smiles down at me and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "Just so you know, your poker face fucking sucks," Negan teases, calling me out on my bullshit. "I don't expect ya to fake it just because you agreed to do this shit. If you're scared, then tell me that you're scared." Negan's tone is gentle and understanding.

"I'm not scared… Just a bit nervous. This is all new to me," my voice trails off. I turn my head slightly, breaking our gaze.

"Honey, I'd be worried if you weren't at least a tad bit hesitant about this shit. Women find out that I can be  _a lot_  to handle in more ways than one.' Negan lightly chuckles when my eyes unconsciously drift down his frame to the growing erection begging to be freed from the confines of his sweatpants.

'I would love to flip your ass over and bury every inch of my already hard-as-fuck dick inside you right now, but I know that you're not ready for all that just yet," a hint of disappointment lingers in his tone. "So, we're going to take this nice and slow, work our way up to that. How does that sound?"

Despite the blunt crudeness of his comments, I'm relieved of Negan's understanding of my current predicament. "I'm okay with that," I answer after a moment, nodding my head.

Negan caresses my cheek in approval before lowering his lips onto mine. The bed dips as Negan repositions himself above me, most of his weight now supported by a forearm on either side of my head. The change in positioning grants me the opportunity to admire the view above me. A thin sheen of sweat already coats his forehead, no doubt from having to restrain himself for such a long period of time. Eyes that are blown in pure lust hungrily roam from my plump lips down to my breasts, before returning to me. Negan flashes a mischievous grin and seductively glides his tongue along his upper lip.

"What?" I cautiously question. Eyeing him with uncertainty.

"Just thinking about how much I'm going to fuckin' enjoy this." A hand finds my waist and slowly roams upwards, slipping underneath my shirt and bra. I arch into his touch as Negan palms my right breast, gently squeezing and massaging the sensitive flesh. "You like that? You like the way your tits fit perfectly in my hands like they were fuckin' made for me?" Negan gruffly whispers as he nips and kisses an imaginary trail along the side of my neck. An area that he has quickly realized is a weakness of mine.

More than once, Negan warns me to lay still, but his tediously slow and relentless fondling has me keening for more. He alternates between each breast, making sure to show equal attention. It's when he captures a nipple in between two fingers, giving it a slight tug, does a sultriest moan escape me.

"Bingo."

I settle my head onto the mattress and squeeze my eyes shut. My focus split from sensations of my nipples hardening under Negan's touch, to the steady heat building between my legs.

A small whimper leaves my lips when Negan unexpectedly removes his hand from my breast, the warmth of his touch instantly being missed. He hooks an arm around my back and sits up, bringing me into a sitting position in front of him in the process.

"What are you –."

"Shhh," Negan hushes, silencing me with a chaste kiss. "Less talking, more stripping."

Without another word, Negan nonchalantly shrugs off his t-shirt, revealing the toned body that I had suspected earlier. His muscle definition is obvious, but not excessive. His pecs and upper body being the most defined – I suspect from repeated workouts with Lucille. His stomach is toned, but not in your typical 'washboard abs' fashion. The balance suiting him nicely.

I spot various tattoos adorned on his body – a cross on his right shoulder, a western gun on his forearm, and even a chest tattoo. I raise a tentative hand, encouraged by a slight nod from Negan, and trace the outline of a tattoo on his chest, admiring the aged artwork.

Negan is patient with me and allows my exploration as my fingertips glide over the salt 'n peppered hairs that run across his chest and converge down his torso. Negan's chest rises and falls at a steady rhythm under my touch as he watches me with a slight grin.

A shiver surges through me when his fingertips slip underneath the hem of my shirt, lightly grazing the skin underneath.

"Let's get this shit off you."

I hesitantly raise my arms, allowing the garment to be pulled off. Tossing the shirt onto the floor, Negan grips the headboard and admires the view before him. I see his eyes taking in everything from my dips and curves, to how my brown locks drape my shoulders, framing my breasts.

I immediately feel too exposed and cross my arms over my chest in an effort to cover up.

"No need to be bashful, doll. The view is pretty damn amazing from where I am." Negan gnaws on his lower lip, his eyes traveling up and down my frame. I stay silent, keeping my head down and eyes focused on the bed, while I tighten my arms around myself as a makeshift shield.

In one swift motion, Negan grabs a wrist in each hand and pushes me back down on the mattress. He re-situates to where he's comfortably straddling my hips while lightly pinning my wrists above my head, leaving my upper body exposed.

Though the position isn't painful in any way, it's uncomfortable in the sense that Negan has stripped away my makeshift covering of modesty. I writhe beneath him with hopes of swaying him off balance, but it isn't enough to jostle his weight off me.

"Don't."

The order from him is gentle, yet authoritative, and is enough to convince me to still beneath him. "Hell no. None of that shit is gonna fly," Negan lightly chastises. "I want to see you,  _every_  damn inch of you. You're fucking hot as shit and there's no reason for you to hide yourself from me. Do you understand?'

"Yes, sir," I mumble solely out of habit.

"What is it?' Negan probes, growing slightly frustrated. "You not used to real men admiring you for more than what's between your legs? Darlin,' let me make myself clear, your fine ass had my dick harder than steel the first day I saw ya. The only thing that stopped me from whipping it out right then and there was your pops. Then again, I don't usually mind a show…," Negan pauses and takes a breath to refocus. "I want all of you, not just to be a selfish ass, but because I know the things that I can make you feel once you let go and give me full reign." Negan's tone takes on a huskiness. "And I'm about to show you."

Negan unexpectedly releases my wrists and moves to where his head is hovering right above my abdomen. Seeming to predict my impending movement, Negan interjects, "Keep those pretty hands above your head, doll. Wouldn't wanna have to strap 'em to the headboard with my belt." The muscles in my arms go rigid at his words, eliciting a sly grin from Negan.

Satisfied with my submission, Negan dips his head and places a soft kiss to my bare flesh. His lips follow an imaginary trail, peppering featherlike kisses along my torso as his skilled hands caress my curves. My fingers claw at the sheets, my own pleasure building as he ascended. The occasional scratch of his stubble sends a surge directly to my core, causing my legs to clench together to contain the building heat.

I fight to keep my hands above my head as Negan's teeth sink into the soft flesh right below my clothed breast, followed by a slow swipe of his tongue, soothing the area. When I don't object the action, he repeats it on the opposite side. Oddly enough, the mixture of pain and pleasure seems to be an intoxicating combination – one that I can predict will be explored soon enough.

Negan's sensual devouring completely distracted me from, and soon eliminated, my prior inner-concerns with stripping away my clothed barriers. I found myself unashamedly wanting more. Placing my hands on his back, I attempt to coax him further north towards my breast, longing to feel what his skillful mouth could do. Always the asshole, Negan forces me to wait, teasing me in the process by reaching just below the area I longed for him to touch and then retreating, his tongue trailing down towards my naval. He chuckles upon hearing my sighs of protest.

Having grown tired of his shenanigans, and riding a new wave of confidence, I reach up and press a hand to Negan's bare chest, pushing him off me. Free of his weight, I sit up and snake my arms around my back, my fingers at once finding the clasp to my bra. Negan's initial look of confusion from being unceremoniously removed from me switches to absolute disbelief as the straps of the thin fabric slowly fall from my arms, revealing my breasts. I toss the garment across the room and turn back towards Negan. Though baring all in front of him, my arms stay comfortably at my sides as he continues to look upon me in utter bewilderment at my actions.

Chills adorn my body as Negan ever-so-lightly brushes a fingertip from the leather around my neck, down my collarbone, to my breasts – admiring the unbelievable scene before him. "Such a brave pup," he praises, understanding the weight of my decision, before bringing his lips to mine. Desiring his touch, I lean back onto the mattress, carrying Negan with me to where his body is draped over my own.

"Negan," I impatiently plead when he resumes his wayward kissing, all the while purposefully straying away from my breasts.

"You know the drill, darlin'. Last time I checked, I wasn't a fuckin' mind reader, so you have to tell me what you want like a big girl."

Not this shit again. I can already predict that Negan will continue this tactic the further along we go.

"Please, Negan, touch me," the words breathlessly spill out. Unlike earlier, the lust-filled high that I'm currently riding overshadows the minuscule blemish to my dignity.

Being the generous man that he is, Negan does not milk the routine any longer. A long moan leaves my lips as his hot mouth encases a nipple. His tongue flicks over the sensitive nub while a hand mimics the same motions on the other breast, causing me to shudder beneath him in need.

Without the barrier of my bra, I'm able to experience the full extent of Negan's touch as his large hand palms my breast and slowly kneads the soft tissue. Simultaneously, sloppy kisses and love-bites are peppered over the opposite mound, the fine line of pain and pleasure being tread. I hiss as Negan nips a bit too hard into my flesh, something that is sure to leave a mark. "Oops, got a bit ahead of myself," Negan states apologetically, lightly blowing on the abrasion to soothe the skin.

The hand that had been on my breast wanders down towards my hip, before slipping underneath the waistband of my basketball shorts.

"What are you….? Fuck - !"

My thought is utterly lost when Negan brushes a finger across my clothed sex, the sensations causing my toes to curl at once. I buck against his hand, silently implying for him to continue once more. He is more than happy to oblige, relishing in how worked up he has gotten me.

"I think that's a helluva sign that we need to keep this train-a-moving. Keeping myself from burying all eight inches of me inside of you is like trying to keep a predator from its goddamn dinner." Negan grinds his hard member against me. "Eventually, nothing can rein in those beasts and stop them from getting exactly what they want,' Negan growls. The vibrations reverberating from his chest as his patience and resistance wear thin.

'Right now, I want you. And judging by the fact that your panties are completely  _soaked_  right now, I'd say that you fuckin' want me too." My cheeks blush as Negan removes his hand and proudly displays his fingers, glistening in my arousal. "You ready for me, baby?" Negan purrs in my ear, his teeth tugging on my earlobe.

"Yes," I shakily answer. A wicked grin creeps across Negan's face. In an instant, he's straddling my lower half, fingers already curled under the band of my shorts, ready to shed them away. Negan casts one final questioning look my way, ensuring that this is in fact what I want, to which I reply with a swift nod of my head. The cool air prickles across my exposed skin as both my shorts and underwear are eased down my smooth legs. Negan aimlessly tosses the garments over his shoulder, his attention never once leaving me.

I can't help but feel a tad bit uncomfortable lying fully exposed before Negan. My initial urge is to cover myself the best I can, though I'm fully aware that Negan would not tolerate that. Instead, I choose to bask in my insecurities, knowing that this is a position that I must become accustomed to.

"Are you just going to stand there with your mouth wide open?" I casually joke to relax myself a bit.

Clearly amused, Negan's lip quirks up into a smirk. "Oh, I can think of a thing or two that I can do with this mouth," he's quick to retort, dancing his tongue across his upper lip. My thighs press together at his words, struggling to contain my arousal. Before I can register what I'm saying, the words spill out. "Show me, then."

Not needing anymore direction, Negan places a hand on my inner thigh and eases my legs apart. I fully expect him to lose all self-control at this point, especially with his mind overrun by lust. However, Negan's motions are slow and deliberate as soft kisses are adorned to my flesh – beginning at the back of my knee, before ascending towards my inner thigh. His touch is intoxicating against the unexplored regions of my being. My chest heaves harder and harder the closer Negan's skilled mouth gets to my core, only for him to slyly divert his path, refusing my silent request. He continues to tease me like that until finally having mercy and giving in.

I grip the sheets to restrain myself from screaming in pure ecstasy when the first swipe of his tongue passes through my folds. Occasionally, his tongue would flick my clit causing a pitched squeal to escape me. The overgrown stubble of his moustache and beard rub against my inner thighs and core with each pass of his tongue. Negan's grip digs into my hips as he struggles to keep me still against him.

I whimper in need when Negan suddenly pulls away and meets my lust blown eyes. "I'm gonna need you to relax for this one, darlin'. I need to stretch you out a bit – my thick cock won't come close to fitting inside your tight-as-fuck pussy if I don't," he explains. Negan waits until I acknowledge his statements before resuming.

The first finger glides in smoothly, thanks to the fact that I was already pretty damn wet to begin with. Negan slowly pumps the digit in and out, giving me ample time to adjust before introducing a second. However, I feel the muscles within me tense in discomfort when he adds a second finger and begins a scissoring motion to loosen my tight inner muscles. "Shhh… Just relax, baby," Negan soothes, tenderly rubbing a hand over my stomach. "I promise, you won't want me to fuckin' stop in a minute."

Despite the foreignness of what I was feeling, I clench my eyes shut and internally will my body to relax. Negan aids in my endeavors, placing butterfly kisses to my right and left inner thigh, while his free hand reaches up and massages my breasts.

A simple change in his angling causes Negan's fingers to brush against a bundle of nerves, coursing a breathtaking wave of pleasure throughout my body. My hips desperately arch closer to Negan, wanting to feel more of him. "That's what I was waiting for…," Negan mutters in approval. Negan crooks his fingers in the desired fashion and commences a ruthless pace, repeatedly grazing the area.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck –," I mindlessly repeat, flailing my arms in search of something to grip onto to help contain the building pressure within me. The addition of a third finger would've been enough to finish me then and there, but Negan slows his pace, forbidding my release. I groan both in pleasure and irritation from being refused my release once again.

"Hey, don't get all pissy with me. This is all a part of the fun." Negan winks before slowly removing his fingers from me, leaving me empty and panting for more. "Besides, I'd rather wait and feel that pussy of yours clamp down on my dick and milk me dry."

My eyes stay transfixed on the man before me as he rises off the bed. Negan grips the band of his sweatpants, effortlessly shrugging the fabric off his toned legs, revealing a pair of dark red boxers with a prominent bulge begging to be released.

Negan saunters over to his nightstand in all his glory and retrieves a condom packet and a small bottle of lube from the drawer.

"You wanna give me a hand, doll?" Negan flashes the packet, tossing it in my direction.

I pick up the foil packet and crawl to the foot of the bed, where Negan is patiently waiting. My hands tremble the slightest bit as I reach forward and slowly ease Negan's boxers down until they fall to the floor. Free from the confines of his shorts, Negan's fully erect member slaps against his lower abdomen, its thick head already leaking pre-cum. A breath hitches in my throat at his massive size, though I can't help but question whether Negan's tedious prep will be enough to account for all eight inches of his girth.

"I know what you're thinking – that's a huge piece of meat – you're damn right, it is. Why don't you two get acquainted? You're going to be spending a lot of time together."

When I hesitate to react, Negan reaches for my wrist and guides my hand around his dick. His thickness is to such an extent that my fingers don't come near to touching around him. "Like this-," he instructs, moving my hand up and down along his shaft. When my rhythm is to his liking, Negan removes his hold and watches me with hooded eyes. A quick pass of my thumb over the tip causes Negan to utter a harsh moan. I continue until he cues me to put the condom on him to ensure he doesn't blow his seed before having a chance to get inside of me.

The cool sheets press against my back as Negan gently lays me down. I can feel my heart racing in anxious anticipation, and a bit of fear, at the sight of Negan applying a generous amount of lube to his throbbing member. His body drapes over mine as he nudges my knees towards my chest, allowing smoother access.

"Hey, it's going to be okay, darlin'." My worrisome expression tipping him off. Negan runs a hand softly down my flushed cheek. "Just relax – we're going to take this nice and  _slow_." Negan carefully slides the tip in as he draws out the final word. There's an immediate burning as my walls are stretched more than ever before. Harsh lips crash against mine, suppressing my pitched cries of discomfort. Ever-so-slightly, he works himself in and out at a slow pace, attempting to give me as much time as possible to adjust to his size.

Through gritted teeth, I tell Negan to thrust his entire length inside of me. It'd be best to go ahead and rip off the band aid, instead of slowly suffering inch-by-inch. Trusting that I know my body best, Negan reluctantly presses on, filling me until our hips are flush to each other. Every part of me goes rigid at the sensation of being completely filled. Even Negan needs a moment to regain his senses.

"So. Motherfucking. Tight," he hisses as he fights to remain still within me.

After a few minutes, Negan gingerly pulls out before filling me to the brim once more. I clutch onto his biceps for support while trying to wait out the pain. As a distraction, Negan nuzzles my neck and begins devouring the delicate flesh. My focus at once drifts to the work of Negan's parted lips sucking and nipping along my jawline. Negan hums in approval of the sultry sounds coming from me in the wake of his pleasant distraction.

The intense unease within me has subsided to a dull ache, occasionally creeping into borderline pleasure when Negan angles his shallow thrusts a certain way.

"Again," I moan when Negan catches a bundle of nerves just right, sending shocks throughout me.

The shocks keep coming as Negan hones in on the correct positioning for the both of us. He scoops up one of my legs and wraps it around his waist, allowing him to hit the right spot with each and every thrust of his hips.

"I'm gonna pick up the pace a little, baby. Let me know if it gets to be too much for ya." Negan lowers his shoulders and snaps his hips at a punishing speed, the momentum causing my breasts to bounce in rhythm with each thrust. The odd wet slapping of our hips echo in the room.

"Oh my God," I rasp, my nails clawing into Negan's back. I can feel my orgasm fast approaching as my walls clench around Negan's shaft, drawing him in deeper. "Negan…. Negan I-I can't h-hold on much lo-longer ." The intensity of what my body was experiencing has made me a whimpering, quivering mess.

"Just fucking let go. I'm not far behind you," Negan grunts. He quickly sits up and grabs my hips, pulling me down to meet each of his thrusts, giving him control to pound into me at a frantic rhythm. It only takes a couple thrust before every muscle fiber within me tightens. I cry out as my orgasm rips through me, bringing a sense of euphoria unlike anything I'd ever experienced before.

Chasing his own impending release, Negan's rhythm becomes sloppy and erratic. His upper body bows down until our chests are flush with one another. One final, brutal snap of his hips causes a mixture of profanities and moans to spill from the man above me. My body shudders at the feeling of Negan's member pulsating within me, his load thoroughly spent.

His full weight collapses on top of me in pure exhaustion. We lay there for what feels like hours, each slowly descending from our highs.

"Jesus-motherfucking-Christ of goddam Nazareth," Negan tiredly mumbles in my ear. I wince as he slowly pulls out of me.

Still slightly panting from his high, Negan reaches forward and gently strokes the collar. I feel his fingers unclasp the fastener before pulling the collar from my neck. Sitting up, Negan lazily tosses the band of leather in the direction of the nightstand.

My entire being instantaneously feels lighter with its removal. The constant reminder of my prisoner status within Negan's ploy is gone, signifying my transition into something closer along the lines of an equal in the eyes of Negan – at least, closer than before.

Resettling on his side, Negan snakes an arm around my waist and slides me closer to him to where my head comfortably rests in the crook of his outstretched arm. Cradled in his embrace, I felt simultaneously at ease and on edge – the sudden tenderness being well appreciated, though highly out of character for Negan.

Since agreeing to become his wife, I've seen a side to Negan that I never knew existed – his human side. He demonstrated selflessness by going out of his way to retrieve my mother's precious guitar. Also, sympathy to me during my emotional breakdown from my night terror and offered an unconventional remedy. Finally on top of everything, he truly put my gratification before his own during our sensual encounter.

I wonderingly gaze into the glimmering eyes above me. Inwardly, I deliberate whether the man who is holding me in his arms right now, is actually trying to make an effort. Hell, do I want him to make an effort towards me…? Do I want this line to be crossed…?

Feeling the cool air against my naked neck is something I haven't experienced in about a month. Negan trails a finger across my neck where the collar sat.

"I'm gonna miss the damn thing. We could've really had some fucking fun with it." A wiggle of his brows and a grind of his hips accompanies his statements. It pleases me to know that Negan will not have the opportunity to use the collar in any twisted fashion in the bedroom, not knowing what his perverted mind would come up with.

The lighthearted atmosphere between us changes as Negan's gentle petting turns callous when his hand encircles my neck, giving it a slight squeeze. His eyes darkened, taking on an emotionless expression much like a shark. "Let me make one thing clear pup. Whether or not that collar is around your pretty neck, you belong to me. That will  _never_  fuckin' change. You. Are. Mine. Say it!"

My eyes widen in terror as Negan uncomfortably increases the pressure around my neck. All the while, his tone never falters from its smooth coldness.

"I am yours!" I squeal. A rush of air floods my lungs when his hand lifts from me. The only response I get is a smug grin and playful slap to my ass as he slips off the bed and proceeds towards the bathroom to freshen up. I sit and wait slightly dumbfounded at the sudden change. The ominous presence of his hand on my throat still lingers as I bow my head.

Quick to return, Negan retrieves his clothes for the day from his dresser. Now that I've seen him completely nude, he makes a show of dressing in front of me as he speaks. "Damn, who would've imagined that you nearly knocking my ass out in the middle of the night would finish with you begging for more of my dick while I fucked your sweet pussy through the mattress? Now that is helluva way to start your fucking day!"

Fully dressed, and with Lucille in tow, Negan strolls over to the bed. I manage to wrap a sheet around myself with shaky hands, still trying to process all of what just happened. He leans over the bed, roughly grabs my chin and places his lips to mine in a hard, possessive kiss – sending his message home. Breaking away, he sees my dejected form and grins in satisfaction, pleased that he had once again managed to one-up me.

"I'll be back sometime tonight. Be a good girl while I'm gone. Thanks again for the wake-up call this morning, doll – my dick is still rock hard from that." He is halfway out the door when he stops and turns back to me. "Oh yeah, I told you that you'd be begging for my dick soon enough!" He flashes his pearly whites with a smug grin. "Ta-ta!" Negan shouts over his shoulder as he leaves the apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Spitfire47.
> 
> First off, I want to thank all of you readers for patiently waiting for this update. I'm am so so so so SOOO sorry that it took this long to deliver an update. It was never my intention to wait this long. However, I was unable to find proper time to write during the past few months as I had initially hoped. I'm currently halfway through my senior year of college and my workload left little time for recreational writing. It absolutely killed me not being able to write because I knew so many of you were anticipating this update. Going forward, my goal is to get ahead on writing while I'm home on winter break and to update when I can.
> 
> With that out of the way, what did you think of the update? Was it worth the wait? Moving forward, things are going to pick up VERY soon. What could that mean for Sam and her father?
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts and feedback on the update!
> 
> Again, thank you so much for your continued patience.
> 
> I love you guys! Have a happy New Year!


	18. Chapter 18

Hot water cascades down my body, washing away a lather of suds and the remnants of Negan on my skin. I furiously scrub over every inch of myself, wanting to rid of all traces of him. Despite all this, I can still feel his hands roaming my form, his lips devouring my neck, the delicious feeling of his cock thrusting deep within me...

_Dammit! How could I have been so naïve?_

I throw the washcloth against the shower wall in absolute frustration before crumbling onto the marble floor.

I've never felt more foolish in my entire life. I hate to admit it to myself, but I was beginning to think that Negan actually cared about me – not in the context of a relationship, but as a human being. The evidence was there: him going out of his way to retrieve my mother's guitar, allowing me to literally cry on his shoulder about my mother on a couple of occasions, and making my pleasure his priority when I finally agreed to have sex with him. Those actions strongly go against Negan's character, that's why I thought they were genuine... In reality, he was just telling me what I wanted to hear in order to get what he wanted.

What would my father think? I just slept with the enemy and I enjoyed it...

What hurts most of all was that I made the mistake of trusting him with a detail of my life that I rarely open-up about – my mother. I revealed more to him about her and my struggles with her loss than I have with my father. It was what he needed to fully bait me, and it worked.

I reach up and rub my hand over the side of my now bare neck, something that I've unconsciously done since the collar's removal not even an hour ago. My fingers brush over a tender spot below my right ear, no doubt one of the many hickeys Negan riddled over my body. Thanks to him, there's no denying who I belong to; his territory has been marked.

I allow myself a few more minutes to wallow on the shower floor before rinsing off, exiting the shower, and dressing. Wanting to conceal some of the hickeys, I keep my hair down and I replace my usual basketball shorts and t-shirt with a pair of jeans and a grey TU sweatshirt. I immediately feel lighter. Covering the markings and wearing something from my pre-Negan life has me feeling more like myself and less like his property.

Any bit of positive energy that I had managed to surmise is extinguished upon stepping into Negan's bedroom.

The clothes scattered across the floor, soiled sheets on the bed, and the leather collar laying on the nightstand practically taunt me. Just the sight of the room resurfaces the inner battle that I thought I had snuffed out while in the shower. I can't get away from what I did. It has to go.

I stomp towards Negan's bed, treading over his boxers that lay strewn on the floor. Gripping the sheet in clenched fists, I give one powerful tug, pulling the material off the mattress and the mattress partially off the bed frame. The linens are furiously tossed into a corner, along with each article of clothing on the floor. My anger grows as I pick up more and more of our clothes.

I pick up his shirt and the feeling of his defined muscles comes to mind. I pick up my bra and my breath involuntarily catches in my throat at the sensations of his mouth and hands devouring my breasts. It's when I turn towards the nightstand and spot the collar that my inner furnace rages to a whole new level. With a fury unlike any other, I firmly grasp the leather in my hand. The material feels heavy, not from it's physical properties, but because of the significance and role that this hunk of leather and metal played in this game that Negan has had me playing since day one. I realize now that removing the collar doesn't mean a damn thing.

Gritting my teeth, I wrench my arm back. I have every intention of beaming the collar across the room, not even caring what it strikes along its path. My mind envisions Negan standing on the receiving end, only causing me to pull my arm back further. Just as I'm about to heave the leather through the air, I glimpse my mother's guitar out of the corner of my eye. I freeze, glancing between the collar in my hand and the guitar propped against the armchair. Words of my mother flash through my mind.

_"Your anger and frustration will only worsen the situation."_

_"Sam, you have to learn to fight the anger itself and not the thing that is causing it."_

_"Don't lose control – you'll find yourself in a situation that you can't get out of it."_

Her gentle voice rings in my ears, reigning in my composure with each passing second. My eyes remain locked on the piece of maple as my arm slowly lowers to my side, the collar thudding onto the carpet between my feet. I sigh and stubbornly nod my head, knowing her words to be true.

_You're always right. mama, even when I don't necessarily want you to be,_  I think to myself.

My anger is something that I've been fighting since I was a toddler. It's easy to spark, but difficult to extinguish. During moments when I was about to implode, my mom would sit me down and help me to work towards the root of the anger. She witnessed the ill results of me acting on my frustrations on many occasions. Yet, she understood.  _"You're just like me,"_  she'd say.  _"The best kind of heart but the worst kind of temper."_

Like a child huffing and stubbornly doing their chores after a parent chastises them, I pick up the clothes and linens that I had hurled into the corner. Walking down the hallway, I carry them the short distance to the washer and chuck them in. Upon returning to the bedroom, I retrieve the collar from the floor and begrudgingly place it back on the Negan's nightstand.

_Okay, mom, I did the 'right thing' and kept my cool. But just so you know, I'm still pissed off_ , I think as I pick up the guitar and plop down on the armchair. I wince upon landing in the seat, still noticeably sore from Negan. The wash cycle will take at least half an hour, giving me a bit of time to escape from this reality through music.

My right palm glides over the cool wood, almost petting the instrument in admiration. With ease, I place my fingers in their needed chord patterns and began to play. The song was nothing in particular, just a melodic tune that I found myself slightly swaying to as I strummed along.

With each pass over the strings, I'm carried farther and farther away from the Sanctuary. My mind is lost in the notes that seem to stem directly from my heart, the sound a warm embrace that leaves nothing but thoughts of home in its wake. Not the home that I left to come to the Sanctuary, but the home that comprised of myself, my father, and my mother. It's during moments like this – carried away by the blissful hum of mom's guitar – that precious memories of our past life roll through my mind like an old film. Since mom's passing, it's been the only thing that has had the ability to calm my wayward spirit.

A knock on the bedroom door brings the moment of serenity to an end, ever reminding me that I can never completely escape from the situation. I freeze on instinct when the door begins to open, fearing it to be Negan, until Dwight's scarred face pokes through the partially opened door. I haven't seen him since a few nights ago at the factory, when I agreed to be Negan's wife.

"Please tell me why on earth you're playing that thing at seven in the morning. I'm trying to get shit done and all that noise isn't helping any," Dwight says. He pauses and tilts his head as he eyes the guitar. "Where the hell did that come from, anyway?"

"Negan picked it up for me while he was out," I say. I stand and turn my back to Dwight to lean the instrument against the neighboring armchair. I avoid mentioning my mom. Dwight doesn't need to know the truth about her. It would only be used against me once again.

"I'll keep it down. I guess I didn't realize it was that early," I mutter over my shoulder, hoping that Dwight gets the message that I want to be left alone.

My shoulders sink at the sound of his footsteps entering the room. When I turn to face him, his eyes are locked on my bare neck. He raises a hand and brushes my hair to the side, revealing the purple splotches trailing below my ear. I move my head slightly so that my hair falls back into place, but the jig is up. Dwight sighs and drops his head.

"I didn't think you'd cave so easily," he says, pointing to my neck. There's a hint of disappointment in his tone.

My mouth opens to speak but it closes just as quickly, his words feeling like a slap to the face. Before I can respond, the washer sounds, signaling the end of the cycle. I angrily shoulder past Dwight, not wanting to deal with this right now. But the man is on my heels and follows me to the laundry room. He leans against the door frame, forbidding an escape, and looks on as I toss the damp linens and clothes into the dryer.

"I just can't believe it," Dwight reiterates, shaking his blonde mane in disbelief.

I clench a dripping sock in my hand and take a deep breath, trying to choose my words wisely.

"Did I really have a choice?" I respond after a moment, finally turning to face Dwight. Even I must admit that there was no avoiding this situation. He was bound to find a way to bait me in sooner or later. The deal of being his wife in exchange for my dad's safety was the ticket.

In that moment, I spot the rare softness in Dwight's eyes. His typical veil of disinterest vanishes as he ponders my words.

"I guess that's Negan," Dwight says in a low voice. "Making it seem like you have a choice, when you really don't." He opens his mouth to continue, but stops and sighs.

Sensing the end of our conversation, I return to loading the dryer. I'm momentarily caught off guard when Dwight places a hand on my shoulder. The touch is surprisingly comforting, one of understanding. In that moment, his silence was telling me more than his words ever could. When he finally lets go, he offers a parting nod before leaving me to return to his work.

I return to Negan's bedroom, processing what Dwight had told me. He's right – Negan is calculating in the way that he forces your hand, making you choose the selection that he wanted you to choose all along to best benefit him. My mind drifts to what Dwight had told me the other night.

_"This isn't who I am. It's who I have to be to survive_. _"_

I get it now. Even Dwight is under Negan's spell, to a degree. He's a good soldier, following the orders of his superior to a 'T', but only because he's forced to do so. In his mind, following Negan, and losing a part of himself in the progress, is better than being dead.

I can't settle with a life like that. There's a way out of this and I'm going to find it. This may not be who I am, but if Negan wants a doting wife, he's going to get one. I'll play the role, making it appear as if I'm on board. But unlike Dwight, I'm not going to continue to live the lie that Negan has forced me to live. It may take me months, or maybe even years, but I'm going to find a way to get my father and I out of this situation. After that, find a way of putting an end to Negan, once and for all.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Later that evening, the aroma of crispy fried chicken, green beans, mac 'n cheese, and fresh rolls fill the apartment. The table is set and there is cold beer in the fridge. Everything is in order for Negan's return. Hell, I even changed into a revealing tank top and shorts, knowing that he would appreciate the extra show of skin.

I'm pulling the rolls out of the oven when the front door opens. Negan struts in with his usual swagger, his leather jacket strung over his right shoulder and Lucille clutched in the other hand. His t-shirt clings to his sweat clad body.

"Honey, I'm home ~," Negan playfully sings as he bumps the door closed with his boot. He lifts his nose and breathes deeply, inhaling the savory fumes. Kicking off his boots, he drapes his jacket on the back of the sofa and props Lucille against the wall.

"I figured I make you a nice meal after you've been gone all day. There's beer in the fridge, too." I point towards the fridge before drawing my attention back to the cooking.

I'm stirring the green beans on the stove when I feel the warmth of his body press against me from behind. "That looks mighty fucking good," he says, his hands caressing my hips. "And I'm not just talking about the food." His hands still as he waits for me to respond. I feel as if he is testing me after this morning.

_Play the role,_  I tell myself.

I put the spoon down on the counter and turn around to where Negan's chest is pressed against mine. Reaching up, I glide my hand down his cheek and guide his lips to mine. Negan grunts in approval and assumes control, pressing my body against the counter as he deepens the kiss. I get lost in his touch, my own pleasures unconsciously resurfacing despite how hard I'm trying to keep them dormant.

I have to force myself to slow the kiss and pull away from him, making sure to tug on his bottom lip a bit as I do so. Negan's cheeks flush and his pants are beginning to get noticeably tighter.

"I'm glad everything has your approval," I say. Negan tries to pull me closer, but I press a hand to his chest. If I don't stop this now, I won't be able to stop myself later. " _You_ , need a shower, badly. _I_ need to finish dinner."

"Or we could skip straight to dessert," Negan tries to reason, with a wag of his eyebrows. When I don't waiver, he huffs and drops his arms from around me. "Fuck it. I'll get a goddamn shower."

Thankfully, Negan quickly departs for the shower. I lean my back against the counter and sigh, shaking my head. That little test-run required more effort to control the situation than I first imagined.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

My eyes flutter open as the beginning traces of dawn barely filter through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Negan's bedroom. I glance towards the nightstand and see that there is still fifteen minutes until Negan's alarm is set to go off. He's laying on his side, spooning me, with one arm strung around my waist. The comforter is bunched at our feet, Negan possessing enough body heat to keep us both comfortable. His chest slowly rises and falls as he dozes.

Not wanting to wake him before it's necessary, I remain still in his arms. It's common for me to wake before he does. I cherish these fleeting moments of calm before the storm that is Negan waking. My mind usually wanders, bouncing from one thought to the next, with no rhyme or reason. However, it seems that this morning's itinerary of reflection consists of the events of the previous weeks.

For the past couple of weeks, I've bitten my tongue and plastered a smile on my face when interacting with Negan. Overall, playing the role of 'wife' has not been too different than what I was doing before. I've continued to cook, clean, and obey Negan's word. However, I've made sure to do all of this without sulking, as I had previously done. I made it a priority to stay chipper and on top of things to show Negan that I was genuine in fulfilling my end of the agreement.

Negan took notice of my cooperation and responded by pulling back some of Dwight and Simon's regular checks on me. I went from being monitored every thirty minutes or so, to going a couple of hours without one of them coming to check on me. It may not seem like much, but it has allowed me more time to plan towards a possible escape.

My first priority was to determine the exact location of the Sanctuary. To my surprise, obtaining this information was easier than anticipated. One afternoon, I approached Simon, who was babysitting me for the day, and asked if he would get me a newspaper to read. My reasoning was that I had already read every piece of literature that Negan owned, even the cookbooks, and I wanted something to keep my mind occupied for a while.

In reality, I knew that a newspaper would have the name of the local county or town printed on the front page.

Sure enough, Simon was not suspicious of my request. The next morning, a copy of the  _King County Chronicle_  was laying on the kitchen counter when I got up to prepare Negan's breakfast. Upon seeing the name, I could only remember that King County was a small town about four hours southeast of my home.

Although I had an exact answer, I couldn't help but feel a bit discouraged. I had never traveled anywhere near King County before, so even if I managed to escape and find a vehicle, I wouldn't have the slightest inclination as to how to get home.

_Knowing my luck, I would get turned around and find myself back at Negan's front door_ , I think as I hear the alarm sound.

I reach over and smack the snooze button before settling back down against Negan. Awaken by the alarm and my movement, Negan nuzzles closer to me. The scruff of his overgrown beard lightly scratching my neck.

I would like nothing more than to spring out of bed, and out of Negan's embrace, to start my day, but that is not something that a 'loving wife' would do. I allow him to pull me closer, melting into his embrace. He places a small kiss to the back of my neck and then my cheek, grinning down at me when I open my eyes to greet him.

"Mornin', sweetheart," Negan says, his voice groggy.

I turn to where I'm laying on my back, gazing up at him. The front of his hair lays in small curls against his forehead. Even in the dim light, his hazel eyes seem to emit a soft glow, despite still being slightly clouded with sleep.

This is the picturesque view that every girl dreams of waking up to. Hell, I dreamt the same thing. I longed for the lazy mornings of waking in the secure arms of a man. I would snuggle closer to him, dozing against his chest. The thought of being anywhere but there with him would be unheard of. Time would escape as we got lost in each other, wondering how on earth we were lucky enough to have the other.

That idealized fantasy begins to fade from view. No matter how hard I try to hang onto the lifelike vision, it turns to dust before my very eyes. The image lying underneath being my current view of a grinning Negan. A modern-day wolf in sheep's clothing; his charm baits you in and gets you close enough for him to sink his fangs into you.

"Hey," I sleepily reply. I stretch my arms above my head, feeling the gentle pull of my muscles as the tension built during sleep is relieved. The movement causes my t-shirt to rise, exposing my midriff.

Negan's warm, rough hand splays over my bare flesh, tenderly tracing small circles with the pads of his fingers. He lowers his head, his lips hovering just above mine and waits. Needing no direction, I tilt my chin up, meeting his kiss.

There is no such thing as a quick kiss when it comes to Negan. He likes to take things slow. His mouth exploring mine until the lack of oxygen forces him to finally pull away, before diving right back in.

I've quickly learned the little movements and kinks that pressed Negan's buttons in the best way possible.

_Tugging on his hair will cause him to get a bit rougher – a dangerous move that can easily lead to more than just an innocent kiss._

_Touching him back whether it's rubbing his torso, arms, or back, will cause him to return the favor; another dangerous move._

_Any sort of moan or whimper, whether genuine or not, is music to his ears._

_The man loves breasts. Any sort of touching, squeezing, kissing, etc. of my breasts keeps him pleased and occupied to no end._

These serve as mental notes, a strategy of sorts, for when Negan finds himself wanting a good make-out session, which is often. Thinking of it as a game plan aids in detaching me from the actions themselves. I'm not going to lie to myself – there are many times when I'm just as turned on and into it as Negan is. A mindset like that will easily lead to me sleeping with him again, a move that I wish to avoid at all costs. Thus far, doing 'just enough' has kept him satisfied enough to where I have yet to sleep with him a second time.

Playing off of him, I moan into his mouth as his hand leaves my stomach and travels underneath my shirt, palming my right breast. I inwardly smile, having successfully predicted his movements.

_One more kiss and a moan or two should be enough to satisfy him, allowing me to finally get up and start my day,_  I think to myself.

Negan, however, has other plans as he suddenly positions himself on top of me. I can't help the surprised squeal that comes from me, muffled by Negan's lips. He positions himself between my legs and his mouth moves from my lips to my neck, greedily sucking and nibbling on the sensitive flesh. This spurs a genuine reaction from me as my back arches off the bed, electrified by his touch. When our lips touch again, it's met with an intoxicating buzz that I haven't felt since that faithful night when I gave myself to him. A feeling that I find myself wanting more of, yet at the same time, I don't.

Negan is ravenous, his groans a mixture of pleasure, desperation, and need. For weeks, he's settled for first and second base since we had sex. Now, he's at bat, staring down the pitcher, and has his sights set on a home run.

I feel myself quickly losing control of the situation. It's as if my body is on autopilot, completely disregarding the frantic screams from my conscious to put an end to this before it goes too far. My conscience works to push through the growing fog of desire that is flooding every fiber of my being.

A hand raises off the bed to push him away, but at the feeling of his hips grinding against my core, it entangles in his grey sleep shirt to pull him closer. He claws at the fabric of my thin pajama shorts, grunting in frustration when the cumbersome material doesn't easily shed off.

It's at this moment that the alarm clock begins to sound for the second time, due to me hitting the snooze button. The rhythmic blare jars my senses, lifting the veil of lust that had overtaken me. My conscience retakes its position at the helm and slams on the brakes, ceasing my actions at once.

"Negan, the alarm," I reason, gently placing a hand on his shoulder to coax him off me so I can get up.

"Fuck the alarm." Negan blindly swings his arm towards the sound and swats the clock, and his cell phone into the wall a few feet away. The square alarm clock instantly silences upon connecting with the drywall and crashing to the floor.

Negan raises off me and sits up on his knees, straddling my lower half, and shoves his navy blue boxers down. With his dick free, he starts to tear at my shorts. It seems like he's about to rip them off entirely, when I reach forward and grasp his wrists, stopping his movements.

"Negan, wait!"

_"What?"_  he grits between clenched teeth, fed up with the delays.

"I can't, you know –," I start, glancing towards his thick, hard cock that is standing in a mass of pubic hair.

"And why the hell not?" he questions.

"I, um. Uh –," I stammer in my mental search for a viable excuse. Negan narrows his eyes at me as the seconds tick by. "I'm on my period. It didn't cross my mind until now." I was actually on my period the previous week, but he doesn't need to know that.

Negan lowers his head and releases a frustrated sigh. Crawling off the bed, he stands to his feet and sulks towards the bathroom, his boxers still hanging at his knees. "Thanks for the blue balls. . . ," he mutters over his shoulder, slamming the bathroom door behind him.

I place my hands on my face and release a long audible breath, sinking further into the bed. That was the closest I've come to surrendering to him once again. I need to do better at controlling and hiding my true desires from him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Later that day, I find myself settled in a black leather armchair in Negan's room. I am situated directly in front of the window, allowing a vast view of the surrounding scenery. However, given our secluded location, all that can be seen is the mass of trees encompassing the perimeter. Even so, it's a beautiful sight to behold.

The leaves of the canopies are beginning to turn, a peppering of scarlet and gold intermingling with the crisp green of the majority. The late afternoon sun accentuates the autumn foliage, appearing to set the trees ablaze with their vibrant hues. Thin pine trees gently sway to-and-fro, and the leaves adorning the branches perform a dance of sorts as they move in tandem with their host.

A speckled leaf breaks free from its branch, pirouetting through the air as it descends to the ground. I watch its path, playing a little game of 'guess which side of the fence it'll land on', a little something that I came up with for entertainment. The leaf hovers yards above the forest floor, an area I renamed 'the safe zone'.

_That's it, stay on that side,_  I think.

It lingers a second or two before a breeze sends the leaf in a downward spiral towards the fence, and away from safety. I lean closer and place a hand against the window, watching intently through the glass barrier as the leaf hovers a few feet directly above the fence, drifting in and out of the two zones. Just when it looks like the leaf is about to fall within the safe zone, a final puff of air from Mother Nature is enough to skim the leaf over the top of the steel barb wire topped fence and onto Sanctuary grounds. It gracefully falls and comes to rest near the rear tire of one of Negan's box trucks.

"You trying to count the fuckin' trees?" I hear from behind, the voice startling me. "You've been sitting there for a while now." My head swivels to see Negan strolling into the room. He's without his jacket, wearing only jeans and a white t-shirt.

I still haven't gotten used to Negan being around on the meet up days with my father. Negan didn't feel it necessary to be present for the meets after I agreed to be his wife. He knew that my father wouldn't try anything, especially after the sacrifice I made. Negan now sends some guy named Fat Joey to meet my father every week, while he remains at the Sanctuary with me.

Negan takes a seat on the arm of the chair I'm sitting in. His gaze fixates on the scenery, eyes squinting in focus. "Whatcha looking at anyways? I see ya sittin' here for days now, ain't nothing out there but a shit ton of trees," he says, finally glancing down at me.

I shrug my shoulders. "Nothing in particular. It's just. . . nice."

"If you say so," Negan scoffs, redirecting his attention back to the view.

"It's better than looking at these walls all damn day," I mutter under my breath. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret saying them. My heart thuds in my chest as I stare at Negan, waiting for a lashing for back-talking him, something I had done well at avoiding since becoming a wife.

Negan's eyes remain pointed out the window, his expression neutral. Appearing to be deep in thought. It makes me wonder if he heard me after all.

Without a word, he stands to his feet and stretches a hand towards me. "Come on."

I stare at the outstretched hand, never too inclined to go anywhere with Negan. Those trips don't typically end well.

At my hesitation, Negan narrows his eyes and curtly nods his head towards his gesture in a silent command. I take his hand and slowly rise to my feet. He senses my apprehension, noticing how my bottom lip is pinched between my teeth.

"Stop that," he lightly chastises, tapping the pad of his thumb against my cheek. He grunts in approval when I release my lip. "Ain't nothing to be worried about. You're not in trouble."

He pulls on my hand, escorting me out of the bedroom and to the living room, where I'm instructed to put on my shoes that lay by the main door. Negan retrieves Lucille from her corner and waits patiently for me to finish before taking my hand once again.

"Your head stays down, eyes on your damn feet. Understood?"

It takes me a beat to process what he said.  _Leaving the apartment with no blindfold? He's never done that_ , I think. I quickly nod my head. The second Negan opens the main door, my chin presses to my chest. My gaze remains locked on the dingy laces of my black Converse as I'm led down the stairs and through a small hallway. I can hear several voices from the opposite direction, I'm assuming to be a few of Negan's men on the job. There is always at least a couple of guys here during the day.

Leading me through a final door, the concrete that was under my feet is replaced with dust and gravel. We come to a halt, though I keep my head bowed. My ears perk at the melodic mating call of a robin in the distance. The afternoon sun seeps into my pores, resembling a warm embrace of a lost friend. A breeze kisses the skin of my arms and face in a greeting from nature. I soak it all in, relishing what I have gone without nearly the past month.

Negan cups my chin, raising my head to meet his gaze. "Is this better than those fucking walls?" Though there is a playful tone to his words, my cheeks flush slightly.

"I'm sorry -."

"Goddamn, woman. I said you're not in trouble," he interrupts. "Shit, you've done everything I've asked of you these past few weeks, so you've earned a little something in return. Plus, I might've been a bit of a dick this mornin'. Point is, I'm not trying to keep you locked away in some tower like a fucking Disney princess. From now on, me or one of the boys will bring you out here for a little while. It won't be everyday, daddy still has work that needs to be done. How does that sound, darlin'?"

I want to be ecstatic at Negan's decree, overjoyed that I'll finally be outside of the confines of his apartment. However, I can't shake the feeling that Negan is waiting to rip the rug from under my feet. This is too good to be true.  _There must be a catch_ , I think to myself.

"I'll get to go outside?" I clarify.

Negan nods his head. Still holding my hand, he ushers me to the middle of the gravel yard. The warehouse is to my back and the fence a few yards in front of me. The only greenery within the Sanctuary grounds are the weeds lining the metal panels of fencing. I glance over my left shoulder and spot a black lifted truck and a motorcycle parked by the building. Other than that, the area is completely open and clear.

"Stay on the west side of the warehouse, between there," Lucille is pointed to the far corner of the warehouse, where the vehicles are parked. "And the corner of the building. Simon and Dwight are the only two who park their shit over here, so no one should bother you. And if anyone does, well. . . ," Negan clutches Lucille a little tighter. "Stay within eyesight and don't try anything stupid," he warns.

With that, Negan turns on his heels and struts the few yards to the warehouse. He hops onto a set of pallets stacked against the brick exterior, lazily swinging his feet as he watches me.

I take my time pacing my allotted space. It takes 124 strides to get from one point of the building to the next. It's only a sliver of the entire grounds, but it gives me access to possible means of escape. My gaze flickers periodically to the ten-foot-tall perimeter fence. I don't want to walk too close to it, fearing that Negan would grow suspicious, so I keep a distance of at least fifteen yards between the fence and me.

Part of me was hoping that the fence's condition would've changed since the tour Simon had given me on my first night here. Though, it's plain to see that the damn thing is still impeccable – no holes in the chain-link, no rusted over sections, and the spotlights secured to the top appear to all be in working order. It would be impossible to slip through without detection from one of the guards that Negan continuously has guarding the fence.

I reach the corner of the warehouse and turn around, pacing towards the opposite end of my makeshift rec area. Looking past where Negan is seated, I spot his men's vehicles. Stealing one is a possibility, but it would have to be the truck, on account that I've never driven a motorcycle. Even then, there is the issue of navigating back home. Plus, how would I slip away without detection? Someone would have to unlock the main gate for me to drive off the property.

_Another dead end! There must be some way out of this hellhole,_  I contemplate as I kick at the gravel, causing pebbles to scatter.

That's when I hear it – a continuous low hum. It's barely audible, but the sound wasn't there moments before. I look to the sky, thinking it to be thunder in the distance, but there isn't one cloud in sight. As the seconds tick by, the noise gets increasingly louder as whatever it is, continues barreling at it's break-neck pace. The trees scatter the sound, hindering me from pinpointing its exact location, but it's getting closer.

I turn to see Negan leaping to his feet. "Get your ass upstairs, now!" he commands, pointing to the doorway with Lucille before sprinting towards the gate. There's an urgency and fervor in his tone that instantly has me running towards the warehouse door.

I duck inside and scurry up the stairs to the apartment, taking them two at a time. My lungs are burning by the time I reach the window in Negan's bedroom. Staring out, I spot Negan opening the main gate to allow a grey hatchback to drive onto the grounds. Negan motions to a Savior to close the gate as the driver gets out of the vehicle. The large man is frantic, his arms waving around as he appears to try to explain something to his approaching leader.

_Is that Fat Joey?_  I ponder, eyeing the driver.

Though I can't hear Negan's reply, his booming roar carries. The driver directs Negan to the vehicle, pointing towards the passenger side.

My blood runs cold as I spot a peppering of bullet holes in the side of the vehicle. The rear tire is flat and the windows on that side are shattered, with a few holes through the rear window.

From the far corner of the yard, Simon and Dwight quickly approach. They had to have heard the commotion. Negan repeatedly slams Lucille against the passenger door panel, no doubt spewing profanities as he does so.

My hands tremble at my side, my body rigid. A terror unlike anything I've felt before creeps up my spine. Slashing someone's tire is one thing, or even keying their car. Firing shots at the car? That's more than having a simple beef with someone. No, whoever did this wanted to send a clear message to Negan.

The question is – who did it and what do they want?

Better yet, is my safety in jeopardy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Spitfire47
> 
> Hey guys! After many many months, Sam is back! Thank y'all for being patient and sticking with me. Don't worry - this story is FAR from over.
> 
> Thoughts on the chapter? How worried should Sam be following the attack on Negan's men?
> 
> I always look forward to hearing from you guys. I read every single review and message. Your input is valued and appreciated!
> 
> Turtle54


	19. Chapter 19

From the bedroom window, I watch as the setting sun disappears behind the treetops, casting a warm glow across the sky. Its departure is usually an indication of Negan's impending return to the apartment for the night. However, I have yet to hear from him since being ordered inside hours ago.

All the while, I have not moved from the window. There isn't anything to see – Negan, Fat Joey, Simon, and Dwight had moved the bullet ridden vehicle to the other side of the compound not long after it arrived. Yet, I've remained fixed in the armchair overlooking the yard. The place seemed to burst with movement, more than the usual I see, including more Saviors patrolling walls in response to the bizarre event.

The adrenaline surging through my veins has kept me on high alert. My gaze meticulously scanned the thick brush of the surrounding forest for any signs of movement - a rustling of the vegetation, a reflection from a scope, the sight of a raised gun. More than once, my entire body tensed upon seeing the foliage move. I was ready to sprint downstairs to alert Negan of the enemy lurking beyond the fence more than once, only to see that it was just a squirrel or rabbit passing through.

There are countless questions swirling through my mind, but I only desire the answer to one – is my father safe?

How am I to know that he wasn't caught in the crossfire of all of this? Judging by the spray of the bullets on Fat Joey's ride, there may have been more than one shooter. It's more than possible that at least one bullet fired from the attackers found its way towards my father and his own vehicle….

_Dammit, Sam! Don't get ahead of yourself._  No longer able to sit still, I spring from the armchair and pace the floor in an attempt to calm my pent-up nerves. The entire situation is shrouded in unknown, resulting in nothing short of anxious energy from me.

Since the day I was introduced to Negan, I knew he was a dangerous man. Even he himself had told me danger had come with the territory, however I shouldn't have been so naïve to believe that his lifestyle would not carry a larger level of danger than I imagined. For the first time since Negan whisked me away, I'm more afraid of the harm that may come to my father and I from unknown attackers, than from Negan himself. They didn't hesitate to attack Fat Joey. What's to stop them from bringing the fight directly to Negan and the Sanctuary? What the hell would I do if that were to happen?

Hide…? Try to escape...? Fight back…?

I rub the pad of my fingers against my temple and sigh. There is just too much to consider, with so little information to go on.

Knowing that there won't be any answers until Negan returns, I crawl onto the bed and curl up on my side.  _Might as well get comfy,_ I reason to myself as the natural light in the room steadily dwindles with the setting sun.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

My eyelids are heavy as they ease open, awaken by the unmistakable sound of a jacket being unzipped. I must've been dozing for a while because the room is now nearly dark, only a few bands of light shine through the window. It's just enough light for me to spot Negan's silhouette by the dresser.

He shrugs his leather jacket off his shoulders, the fabric landing in a heap on the floor. He doesn't even bother to untie his boots, merely kicking them off his feet. A few low grunts spill from his lips as he peels off his t-shirt.

I sit up in the bed, causing Negan to whip his head around at the sudden noise. He stares through the darkness in my direction, appearing to search for the source of the noise. "It's just me," I say through the darkness.

Negan simply nods his head and returns to undressing. I turn on the table lamp and wait a moment for him to speak up, expecting some sort of explanation about earlier. When it doesn't come, I softly clear my throat to get his attention.

"Negan...what happened out there?"

"Don't worry about it," he mutters as he tosses his pants onto the pile of soiled clothes. Without even a glance in my direction, he shuffles into the bathroom to wash off, leaving the door slightly ajar.

'Don't worry about it'? Judging by the looks of the vehicle earlier, someone tried to murder his own men, and possibly my dad. He expects me to just 'not worry about it'? There is too much going on and too many unknowns plaguing my mind for him to blow me off like that.

The shower has just turned on when I bound off the bed and hurry to the bathroom door. My hand is poised to push open the barrier when I suddenly stop. Regardless of my frustration, barging through the door and demanding answers won't get me anywhere with him. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, mustering the courage for the words to come forth.

"What about my dad?" I blurt out. The words seem to hang in the air as I await an answer.

"What?" Negan finally responds, his voice slightly raised over the running water.

"My dad! I know he was there," I speak up to ensure he hears me over the shower. "Was he –."

"He's fuckin' fine," Negan interjects. The water is slammed off and I hear his wet feet pad against the tiled floor.

Though the response was short, a relief washes over me at Negan's confirmation knowing that he wouldn't lie about him. I don't know how my father managed to evade injury from the onslaught of bullets, but he did.

_I swear, the man has nine lives_ , I think, shaking my head with a smirk.

I turn and rest my back against the wall adjacent to the door. Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean forward and angle my head enough to where I can peer through the inch-gap of the door. Negan stands in front of the sink, toothbrush in hand. Beads of water descend his bare back, stopping at the black towel wrapped around his waist.

"So, what really happened out there?" I ask. His eyes flicker to the mirror above the vanity, meeting my gaze in its foggy reflection.

"Nothing. Just drop it," he slurs through the toothpaste in his mouth.

I sigh and roll my eyes. "That was a whole lot of something, to just be 'nothing'. I deserve to know."

How can he expect to keep this from me? I may not be wrapped into this by choice, by I'm in it nonetheless.

All I get in return is a pointed glare from Negan. He quickly finishes his routine and exits the bathroom, bumping my shoulder in the process. My presence is entirely ignored as he strips off the towel and changes into a pair of boxers.

I know that I shouldn't push him, but this is something that I cannot be in the dark about. I need answers….

"Negan, please. Just tell me –."

"Goddamit, pup!" Negan roars. I flinch at his tone and find myself inwardly shrinking as his shadowed form closes the gap between us. My head lowers to avoid his gaze, though he's quick to lace his fingers around my chin, forcing my head back up. I stare into his angry eyes and it quakes me to the core.

"Listen... and listen fuckin' good pup. I said fuckin' drop it! What goes on outside of this room is none of your damn business," Negan states icily. His voice drops to almost a whisper, making me more on edge and terrified than when the man was yelling. "The only thing that you  _deserve_  to know is that you don't need to know a fuckin' thing. I don't want to hear another motherfucking word about any of this shit. Are we clear?"

"Yes sir," I quickly answer, slightly trembling before him. With his tight grip still on my chin, I nod to the best of my ability.

Satisfied that his point was made, Negan releases me and moves to climb into bed. Not wanting to anger him any further, I swiftly do the same. It's unexpected when Negan doesn't make a move to wrap himself around me. He typically falls asleep with at least one part of him touching me. However, he stays on his side of the bed, his back to me, and is soon asleep.

I lay on my back in silence, Negan's words tumbling through my subconscious. I find myself even more uneasy about the present circumstances after speaking with Negan, than what I felt when I was still completely in the dark on it. This isn't something that can just be swept under the rug; yet, that's exactly what Negan was doing.

One thing is for certain, I won't go to him for any more information. The last thing I expected was for him to lash out like that. It's been weeks since he even raised his voice at me, let alone called me 'pup'. All that I've heard for nearly a month is  _sweetheart, darlin', doll_ , and even  _baby_. Negan losing his shit and calling me 'pup' demonstrates just how off-kilter he is from this fiasco.

Turning my head, I offer a final parting glance to Negan's sleeping form.  _I know there's something you're not telling me, and I'm going to figure it out_ , I think as I turn away from Negan and drift off to sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You almost done in there?" I hear from the other side of the bathroom door.

"One second!" I quickly grab the hair-tie from next to the faucet and tightly secure it around my braided ponytail. With the hickeys now healed, there's no need to continuously keep my hair down. A simple braid does the trick of changing things up.

Negan gets off the bed as I exit the bathroom. I haven't said a word to him after last night, figuring it'd be best to lay low for a while. I quickly make the bed and start a beeline for the kitchen, when Negan suddenly calls out to me.

"I have some shit to take care of downstairs, so just coffee this morning. No time to eat."

I tilt my head in question. This is uncustomary for Negan. It's a Saturday, which usually entails a more relaxed day at the Sanctuary. He would only spend part of his day downstairs, since the majority of his men seemed to be making runs on these days.

"Okay… one coffee to go. Coming right up."

"Good." Negan partially steps out of the bathroom. "You'll have to keep yourself occupied for a bit – I need Simon and Dwight with me. I'm trusting that leaving you unattended will not be an issue?" Negan raises an eyebrow in challenge.

I swiftly shake my head. "No sir! There won't be any issues at all."

He eyes me for a moment, before waving his hand to dismiss me.

A few minutes later, I'm parked on a barstool at the island. Negan's coffee is done, the smell of the freshly brewed Americano is enough to wake my still drowsy senses.

I turn at the sound of the main door opening to see Dwight casually strolling in. "You look surprised to see me," he comments. He moves straight for the coffee maker on the counter.

"Negan said you and Simon were going to be downstairs with him for a while. So yeah, I'm a bit surprised to see you."

Dwight grabs a mug from one of the cabinets. "Need some coffee, late nights and early mornings fuck me up." He places the mug under the coffee dispenser and selects his desired brew.

While he waits on the coffee maker, Dwight spots yesterday's newspaper on the corner of the island and motions for me to slide it over to him.

"Negan still getting ready?" He asks as he flips open the front page.

"Yeah," I simply state. I want to ask Dwight about yesterday, but Negan's presence from last night loom's over me. Leaning partially off the barstool, I cautiously glance down the small hallway leading to Negan's bedroom. The door is still closed, meaning I at least have a few more minutes. It's now or never.

"Long day yesterday?" I ask casually, opening the conversation.

Dwight nods and moves to retrieve his steaming mug. "Just like most days here," he says casually. He takes a quick sip before returning to his article.

"Fat Joey seemed pretty rattled when he got back." I keep my voice level and confident, making it seem like I know more than what I really do. Now, I just need Dwight to take the bait and fill in the blanks.

Dwight lowers the paper and eyes me curiously. "How do you know Fat Joey?"

I shrug my shoulders. "I've never met him, but Negan mentioned his name a time or two. It wasn't hard to put the pieces together when I saw him yesterday. The name fits."

Dwight's lip curls into a small smirk. "Who do you think christened him with that name to begin with?"

_Of course, Negan._  I roll my eyes at the notion.

Silence overtakes us as Dwight becomes absorbed in whatever article he's reading. I wait for the man to speak up again, but nothing. I can literally feel the seconds ticking away. My window of time shrinking before Negan makes his appearance, ruining any chance of learning more intel.

My fingertips lightly drum on the granite surface. "So… what had him so spooked yesterday?"

Dwight sighs and folds the paper closed, setting it down on the island. "The fact that you don't know, tells me that Negan doesn't want you to know. Trust me – the less you know, the better."

I feel my cheeks redden in frustration. I didn't expect Dwight to spill everything to me, but I was hoping that he would've at least thrown me a bone or two. Especially given the bit of trust built between us.

"That's a load of bullshit and you know it!" I hiss, raising off the barstool.

"What's bullshit?" Negan questions from the entryway to the kitchen. He glances suspiciously between me and Dwight, surveying the scene before him. Sitting on his shoulder is his barbed leading lady, Lucille.

I immediately sit back down. Panicking, I struggle as words cycle through my mind, though a viable response fails to come to light. Negan fully turns to me and furrows his brow when I don't immediately speak.

Before I can say a word, Dwight picks up the newspaper. He flips to a select page and presents the paper to Negan. "We were talking football. The kid didn't believe me when I told her that her team had lost their rivalry game. I gave her the stats from the game, but she still called bullshit." Dwight huffs in annoyance.

I shoot Dwight a confused look, but he continues with the act. Negan doesn't notice our exchange. He intently scans the article before tossing it on the island in front of me, his usual shit-eating grin spreading on his face.

"Sorry, darlin', but that's no bullshit. Dwight's right – your team fuckin' sucks."

I'm dumbfounded when I pick up the paper. Sure enough, the article that Dwight had turned to displays the overall stats from my favorite team's most recent game. The stats support Dwight's explanation, showing that my team had, in fact, lost the game. Quick thinking on his part.

Refolding the paper, I toss it towards Dwight. "Fine, we lost," I grumble angrily. "But we're going to kick their asses next time."

Dwight continues the act, retorting with a not-so-pleasant comment about my team. Negan chuckles at our little spat before grabbing his coffee and strutting towards the main door. With Negan's back to us, I mouth a 'thank you' to Dwight for saving my ass; to which he replies with a simple nod.

"Move your fuckin' ass, D!" Negan shouts as he exits the apartment, having missed our nonverbal exchange.

Just like that, Dwight's internal switch is flipped. His face turns emotionless and rigid as he quickly follows Negan out of the apartment, slamming the door shut behind them.

I close my eyes and inwardly count.  _One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi…._

Upon reaching 'five Mississippi', I slam my fist down on the surface of the island. Over and over, it strikes, until the throbbing in my knuckles becomes too much and the skin already becoming discolored. I know it's going to bruise like hell from this, but I couldn't hold it in any longer.

Negan and Dwight withholding information from me both infuriates and scares me. I get it – I could become a liability if Negan shares too much information concerning his business. However, I'm not asking to see ledger books of information; I would just like to know the level of threat that we are dealing with. Was this the attack of a lone wolf? Are there more pieces at play?

Being in the dark takes my safety out of my own hands. If it came down to it, I'm not sure if I trust Negan enough to know that he would keep me safe from harms way. What am I to him, anyways? He wouldn't bat an eyelash if I were killed. I'm sure he would kill my father to totally rid himself of all traces of our arrangement. I highly doubt Negan's life wouldn't miss a beat after that.

If I'm going to get answers, I'm going to have to get them for myself. There is no question that whatever is happening downstairs right now has to do with yesterday. Negan needing both Simon and Dwight supports my claim. If I could just hear what was going on...

I rise from the barstool and scan the floors and baseboards for a vent. If I can find one, it's possible that it would be connected to the first floor, allowing me to eavesdrop without being caught. I scour every inch of the apartment, even going as far as to check behind furniture for a vent, but no luck.

The only means downstairs is through the main door. I place my ear flush against the wood, though the material is too thick for me to hear anything from downstairs. Sighing, I eye the doorknob with hesitation.

My options are limited. If I remain upstairs, the anxiety of the unknown will shatter my sanity. I'll live with a fear that I hold no power over. On the other hand, I could take a chance and peak downstairs to get a better listen. It could work, if I'm careful enough. Though if Negan catches me, I'll face unimaginable repercussions.

I have to try.

Taking a deep breath, I reach forward and grasp the knob. Ever so gently, I twist the brass handle and open the door just wide enough to peak through. I can only see about halfway down the empty flight of stairs. I wait a moment before opening the door a bit wider. My head pokes through the opening, and then back out in a flash. It was too quick to see any further, but the fact that I don't hear footsteps charging up the steps tells me that the coast must be clear.

Confident in my recon, I lean half of my body out of the doorway. If I hear footsteps approaching the stairwell, I'll still have enough time to jut back into the apartment before being spotted. Listening closely, I can make out the voices of several individuals, Negan being one of them. They appear to be coming from the right of the stairwell. If I remember correctly from Simon's tour, that should be in one of the meeting rooms downstairs.

As much as I try to concentrate, I'm unable to make out what is being said. If I expect to hear anything, I need to get closer. I crouch down and creep out onto the top landing of the stairwell. Being lower to the ground will conceal me a bit better than if I were standing. The stairwell is dimly lit, partially concealing me from anyone who passes by the bottom of the stairs. Only way I would be detected would be for someone to climb the stairs.

Cautious of a few creaking boards, I stay close to the wall as I maneuver down each step. The lower I descend, the better I'm able to hear. I stop about halfway down, sticking to as much shadow as possible and not wanting to push my luck any further.

"What the hell happened back there?" A female Savior questions.

"Arat, I already fuckin' told you!" A guy speaks up.

"Well, tell us again. No skimping on the fuckin' details, Joseph," Negan orders.

Fat Joey swallows nervously. "I went to the pick-up site, got the cash from Pete and left without a word like you ordered. I was driving down 106, heading back here, when they lit me up. The bastards must've been hiding in the tree-line 'cause I didn't see a damn thing until they were right on top of me. I never expect to see anyone on our turf. I put the gas to the floor and got my ass out of there."

_Thank God, he had already left from meeting with dad._

"No warning?" I recognize as Dwight's voice. "They just started shooting?"

"I told ya man. Things went from totally cool to World War II in an instant," Fat Joey confirms.

Arat scoffs in disbelief. "And you didn't see anything? Come on man."

"Sorry, but I was too busy ducking and driving like a goddamn maniac to make sure I didn't a fucking bullet in my head. Next time, I'll be sure to get a full description…. You want their names and addresses too?" Fat Joey spits.

"Enough!" I hear from Negan. I flinch as he slams Lucille against a surface, I'm guessing to be the table to silence his lieutenants. "Everyone calm the fuck down. I ain't got time to hear y'all pissin' at one another over this bullshit. The fact of the matter is that it appears our little truce has ceased. They broke two important commandments when they made the unfortunate decision to attack: thou shalt not cross into Savior territory and thou shalt not fuck with Negan's shit."

_Territory? Truce?_

"What now, bossman?" Simon speaks up. "Send a group to even the score? Ambush? Sabotage their product?"

A dark chuckle emits from Negan. I can easily visualize the evil smile on his face. "No, we wait and carry on as usual. However, the next time they have the balls to show up on Savior land, we'll be ready. We'll pluck those fuckers off one by one until either they haul ass back to wherever they fuckin' came from, or they're all dead."

The room erupts into shouts of agreement. Having heard enough, I take the opportunity to scurry back up the stairs and into the apartment.

My heart is pounding a mile a minute as I pace the living room floor. I knew this was a bigger deal than what Negan was making it out to be, though I wasn't expecting it to be this huge. This wasn't just the act of one person, but a group, one seemingly large enough to rival the Saviors. The talk of 'territory' and 'truce' being the biggest red flags of them all.

"What the fuck is going on?" I speak out load, trying to make sense of it all.

I suddenly stop in my tracks as realization smacks me in the face like a ton of bricks. Back when I first met my dad at the old factory, he briefly mentioned another group being in the mix. One that was just as brutal and terrifying as the Saviors. Though it was twenty or so years ago, from the sounds of it, that very same group is still in the mist of things today.

I can speculate all I want, but I won't get anywhere without the truth. I can't go to Negan or Dwight about this because then they would know that I eavesdropped on their meeting.

I need to see my dad, soon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Spitfire47.
> 
> Hey guys! I hope everyone has been taking advantage of these last few weeks of summer weather. I hear that this upcoming winter is going to be a rough one.
> 
> Thoughts on the update? Sam had balls to sneak downstairs like that. I would've been too chicken to even try that. so props to her! XD It seems like she almost has this mystery solved. But what awaits after that?
> 
> I'd love to hear from y'all! Again, I greatly appreciate all of your reviews and feedback. What do you think about how Sam is handling everything? Is she being too reckless?


	20. Chapter 20

My body lightly jostles to-and-fro as Negan speeds down the gravel road, bound for the factory. I clutch tightly to the leather seatbelt across my chest, thankful that Negan chose to drive a vehicle with the safety restraints, unlike the rust-bucket that he drove during our last voyage to the factory. God knows we need it; Negan is the epitome of a reckless driver – lead foot, taking turns too sharp, braking suddenly, etc. It's times like this when I'm glad that Negan requires the blindfold, freeing me of having to witness his driving first hand.

Through most of the trip, I've silently reflected on the past few weeks following the attack on Fat Joey. There has been an underlying tension hovering within the Sanctuary. Negan has spent a record amount of time downstairs on a daily basis, no doubt orchestrating the Saviors. From my spot at the bedroom window, I've watched him send out convoys of his men to undisclosed locations. I can only suspect that it has something to do with the attackers.

All the while, I've avoided confronting Negan on the issue. I minded my own business and went about the days as usual, speaking only when Negan spoke to me. I've silently prayed that the day would soon come and I would be able to have another meet-up with my father to get the answers that I needed. Who are these people? What are their intentions? Is Negan the sole target, or the entire Savior organization?

After weeks of anxious waiting, Negan made it known that my father had been doing a superb job of making his payments. Because of this, Negan was going to be generous enough to grant us a few hours of visitation.

Although I'm ecstatic for the long-awaited reunion with my father, there's a part of me that questions our safety on the road. We are traveling the exact route that Fat Joey traversed on the day he was attacked. To my knowledge, there has yet to be a second ambush from the enemy, but that doesn't mean they won't strike again. I suspect this is why Simon is accompanying us on our voyage today. Hearing the hum of his diesel engine following close behind us gives me one less thing to worry about.

I'm jolted from my thoughts when Negan suddenly slams on the brakes. I wince as the seatbelt locks up and painfully digs into my flesh. The engine idles for a few seconds before Negan flips the ignition off. I hear Simon pull up and park directly behind us.

"Let there be light," Negan jokes as he reaches behind my head and unties the blindfold. I can hear him then jump out and speak to Simon.

The rush of sunlight distorts the vision of my unadjusted eyes. I scrunch my face and throw my hands up to block out some of the intrusive brightness as my vision refocuses. Only when the blurriness has completely subsided do I unbuckle and hop out of the pickup.

I silently curse to myself as the movement causes my top to rise behind me, almost completely exposing my back. The shirt is a flowing, white off-the-shoulder top. Though it's cute, the damn thing will not stay in place! If I try to keep my cleavage covered, my stomach is exposed, but pulling down the material to cover my stomach leaves my cleavage practically popping out. Negan surprised me with the outfit and insisted that I wear it, which includes a pair of dark wash skinny jeans that leave little to the imagination. It's certainly outside my wheelhouse of graphic tees and jeans that don't cut off the circulation to my legs. The lone redeeming quality of wearing the outfit is that it offers a bit of relief from heat. With the Indian summer setting in, the would-be autumn coolness is put on hold until this last round of heat subsides.

I'm tugging on the hem of the garment when Negan approaches, freely swinging Lucille with each step taken. Despite the slightly uncomfortable heat, Negan remains in his leather jacket – though he's left it unzipped over his stark white tee.

"Ah, ah," he chastises, lightly smacking my hand off the fabric. "Leave it alone. It makes your tits look fine as fuck." Negan reaches forward and brushes my hair aside from where it had been partially concealing my bare shoulders and chest. He releases a deep sigh in approval, trailing the back of his knuckles down my shoulder in a barely-there touch.

I fight the urge to bristle at his contact. Him doing this in the safety of the bedroom is one thing, adding a spectator to the mix is something entirely different. My gaze uneasily wanders towards Simon's direction, already feeling his prying eyes on me. He immediately looks away when I catch him staring.

Negan follows my eyes and clicks his tongue in amusement. "Can't say I blame the bastard. I mean, all he's seen you wearing is fuckin' t-shirts and shit. He hasn't seen what I've seen…. My, oh my – I do know how to pick them, if I do say so myself." Negan intertwines his fingers in mine and raises my arm, slowly twirling me a full three-sixty to get the full view. His eyes turn a darker hue, almost primal in nature, as his heated gaze seems to peer straight through my clothing.

I can't help the fact that he has my stomach twisting into knots with just that one look. Sometimes it feels as if he's my own toxic blend of heroin; as harmful as I know he is, part of me just wants to say, 'fuck it' and ride that high once again.

This isn't one of those moments.

I shove my urges deep within the depths of my subconscious, realigning my focus to the task at hand – getting inside the factory to get answers from my dad.

"Negan, he's waiting," I remind him, nodding towards the weathered building.

"And his ass can continue to wait. Come on, baby… how about we give Simon a little show?" Negan takes a smooth step forward, pressing his hard body against mine as his calloused hands lightly tickle the smooth skin of my sides.

I raise up on my toes and drape an arm across the cool leather of his shoulder and neck, lowering him to my level. "Or, maybe I could give you a private show later. We could even take our sweet time," I softly whisper into his ear. My other hand reaches between us to lightly palm the front of his pants.

His entire body goes rigid as a mixture between a gasp and a moan flows from his lips. It's good that Negan can't see the smirk on my face. I truly have him in the palm of my hand. He's not the only one who knows which cards to play to get what they want.

Negan tilts his head back and peers down at me through hooded eyes. "How can I say 'no' to that shit?" he says, pressing his lips to mine. After a moment, he reluctantly pulls away and grabs my hand, leading me across the parking lot to the entrance of the factory.

Simon is stationed at the industrial door when we approach. I notice a handgun holstered to his belt, and silently pray that it will not have to be fired anytime soon. With a simple nod from Negan, Simon heaves open the door for us to pass through, before muscling it closed on its rusted tracks.

Dust clouds the air as we maneuver through the dimly lit factory floor. The sparsely placed windows allow enough light to keep us from running into any of the large machines, conveyer belts, or boxes overflowing with spare parts. Negan keeps a secure hold on my hand in case I misstep over any of the trash riddling the floors.

We're just outside the break room, a mere feet from where my father is waiting, when Negan suddenly stops and harshly pulls me against him.

"Don't forget the rules, especially who you fuckin' belong to. You won't like what happens if you do," he warns in a low whisper.

"Yes, sir," I swiftly answer, knowing him not to make empty threats.

Negan grins and releases me. I watch as he smooths down his hair one final time and shrugs his shoulders loose, resembling an athlete performing their pregame warmups. Wrapping an arm around my waist, he pulls me flush to his side.

"Showtime," he mumbles in glee and pushes open the door.

The instant we cross the threshold into the small break room, my eyes fall upon my father. He's seated at the rickety table in the middle of the room, the soles of his boots tapping restlessly against the concrete floor. Hearing us enter, he snaps to attention and unsteadily rises from the chair.

It's only been a month since the viscous beating he sustained at the hands of Negan, the night I made the decision to become Negan's wife. His pained stance is enough evidence to know that at least a few ribs are still bruised. Besides a hint of bruising lingering around his eye, the superficial wounds have appeared to have healed. However, I can't help but cringe at the sight of his still warped nose. The swelling has subsided, but the bridge protrudes slightly to the right.

Despite his injuries and obvious discomfort, his face beams at the sight of me.

"Hello there, old friend!" Negan joyously greets my father. "I would say that you're looking good, but you look shittier than shit itself. How's your face feeling?"

"It's fine." Though the answer was directed towards Negan, my father has yet to take his eyes off me. More specifically, how Negan's arm is rested comfortably around my waist, close to my ass.

Negan takes notice, his lip curling in sinister delight. "Wonderful! We've been doing fine-and-fuckin'-dandy too, by the way. I think the married life has been treating her quite well. Don't worry, I've been keeping her busy," Negan winks at my father, twisting the knife even further.

The color drains from my face at Negan's words. I sheepishly peer at my father. His fists are clenched with his knuckles white from the strain. He's doing all that he can to bite his tongue, but I'm not sure how much more he can take.

"Shit," Negan looks down at me. "Now that I think about it, today is our one-month anniversary! Damn – I should've brought us some fuckin' cake or something so we could celebrate. My bad, darlin'."

I flash Negan a small smile, even though his comment has me wanting to slap the arrogant smirk off his face.

"Well, I guess I've busted your balls enough for now." Negan pulls his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and checks the time. "Your two hours start… now!"

The instant Negan releases me, I jump into my father's waiting arms. Though he looks frail, his strength has not waivered any as he embraces me. I rest my head on his shoulder and cling to him as tightly as I can. He kisses my cheek and gently sways me in his arms.

Without warning, tears begin to fall from my eyes, soaking into his dirty blue flannel. It's so unexpected, even to myself. My mind has been so preoccupied in the matters at the Sanctuary that I haven't had time to truly miss my father, until now.

Since being taken from him, I've had no other choice but to turn to myself for comfort and reassurance. I couldn't afford to truly acknowledge the terror that has dwelled in me for the past few months; if I had, it would've crushed me. The weight of what's been on my shoulders now feels suffocating and all too real with him in front of me. It's as if the protective walls I built are made from paper, paper that is being drenched and disintegrated by my falling tears, and the only thing keeping me together is him.

"Shhh… I got you, honey. It's okay," my father soothes. He grimaces slightly as he maneuvers us both to where he is seated in the chair, and I'm curled into his arms. My face stays buried in his shirt as he gently rocks me back and forth while softly humming 'You are My Sunshine'.

It's a proven way to calm me; he's been doing it since my mama died. The first night that I had the nightmare of her accident, dad could hear me crying from the other side of the house. He rushed into my room, scooped me into his arms, and hummed that song until I had cried every tear that I had in me and had drifted back to sleep.

Just as he did back then, he hums the simple melody countless times, patiently waiting for me to settle. Only when my breathing calms does he speak up.

"Feeling a bit better, sweetie?"

I nod my head and glance up to meet his calm expression. That's when I notice the stains on his shirt from his own tears as well. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you. It just kind of… hit me." I shrug my shoulders.

He leans down and kisses the top of my head. "No need to be sorry. You've been through a lot." He whispers the last part, cautious of Negan's presence.

Turning my head, I spot Negan seated against the wall on the opposite end of the room. His nose is in some motorcycle magazine, keeping him occupied for the time being.

I nestle my head against my father's shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent of Irish Spring soap, with an undertone of car exhaust. I can't help but smile; no matter how thoroughly he washes his clothes, after a long day in the shop, the smell seems to trap itself within the fibers. It doesn't bother me, though. If anything, I inhale deeper, trying to store the scent into my memories with not knowing when I'll get the opportunity to see him again.

"We need to talk," I whisper, nervously fidgeting with a loose string on his shirt. He doesn't react at first, making me wonder if he even heard me.

"I know…," he mutters under his breath. His eyes uneasily drift towards Negan.

I look up at him in confusion.  _How does he know?_

Though Negan's attention seems elsewhere, it's too risky to try to talk to my father right now. I slide off his lap and into the other seat before striking up a conversation. The minutes tick away as I'm filled in on the small-town gossip from back home. It reminded me of the days when he would make the three-hour trip to TU to visit me. The time would be split in half – him catching me up on things at home, and me sharing details of how I had been surviving college. Only this time, he was doing all the sharing. There's not much that I can reveal with Negan present.

All the while, I prayed that Negan's phone would ring to give us a few minutes alone while he tended to the call. Not once did it make it sound. My father and I could sense our window closing, though we continued with our charade.

We're entranced in a lively discussion concerning college football when Negan loudly clears his throat to get our attention.

"Start wrapping things up, darlin'. Only fifteen more minutes," he says from behind his magazine.

_Shit, that came way too soon._

Realizing that it's now or never, I stand. My father reaches out and grabs my wrist, his face scrunched in worry.

"Trust me," I mouth to him, shaking my wrist free.

Negan slowly lowers the magazine and uncrosses his slender legs when he hears me approaching. "You know you only got...," he slips his phone out of his pocket and glances at the screen, "thirteen minutes left, right?"

"Can I have a few minutes alone with my dad? That's all I need – just a couple of minutes."

Negan leans against the back of the chair and folds his arms over his chest. "Is that so?" he slurs, cocking his head to the side.

"Please, Negan. You know that I won't try anything stupid; I know the consequences." My gaze shifts to his side, where Lucille is leaning against the wall. "Please...?"

He stares me down with distrust as his eyes searching mine for any hint of deceit. He's unwavering, seeming to think that the longer he presses me, the weaker my resolve will get. I fight to stand my ground, not once breaking eye contact, though I surely wish too.

Negan suddenly stands to his feet, causing me to shuffle back a step to give him room. A smirk presses in over his features.

"You're so fuckin' adorable when you beg," he croons, leaning in close. "Lucky for you, I'm still in a damn good mood from earlier. But you have to give me something in return for being so fuckin' generous." His gaze flickers to my father, before returning to me. "One kiss in exchange for the last ten minutes alone with daddy."

My face drops at Negan's proposal. Even he knows that it's more than just a kiss. That one kiss in front of my father is the public declaration that I fully belong to Negan. It's a cheap shot to a man that is already broken and battered. Better yet, it's a challenge thrown down to see just how loyal I am to him, as opposed to my father. The devastating thing is that if I expect to get information, I have no choice but to agree to it….

I numb my senses, focusing all my energy on Negan. My father, the factory, and every other source of stimuli fade into black. I visualize one of the many kisses shared between Negan and I in his bedroom, imagining this to be just as routine as those.

My hand tenderly cups his jaw, his thick scruff scratching my palm. Coaxing him forward, his lips press lightly against mine. A deep groan vibrates from the back of Negan's throat as my fingers intertwine in his raven locks, giving them a slight tug. He grabs a handful of my ass, kneading the soft flesh through the denim barrier. A moan catches in my throat before it could be heard, though it doesn't go without notice from Negan, who grins against my lips.

There's a flush tint to my cheeks when he pulls away. I could easily shrug it off as being from the embarrassment, but Negan and I are both aware of the affect that he has on me.

His lip curls in triumph, casting a final look over my head to my father. Negan straightens and grabs Lucille, lazily propping her on his shoulder.

"Good seeing ya again, Pete! If you keep doing what you're fuckin' doing, the wife and I just might swing by for another visit."

The weight on my chest is slowly lifted with every step that Negan takes away from the room. Only when his booming footsteps are reduced to barely audible taps do I release a long, slow breath. I rub my hand across the back of my neck, turning to face my father.

His body is rigid, fists clenching and unclenching on the tabletop, almost as if in rhythm with his rising pulse.

"He's just trying to push your buttons in any way he can," I try to explain, moving to sit across from him.

"I know," he grits through his teeth in a tight breath.

I stretch my arm across the table and drape my hand over his, caressing over the fine scars that riddle both hands from decades of mechanical work. They're worn and calloused, the skin cracked and marked in certain places. Each scar a reminder of the many late-night hours spent busting his ass to make sure that I was provided for after mama died.

My thumb passes over a raised scar on the top of his knuckle. It's still relatively fresh, only recently scarred over. A lump forms in my throat, knowing that he gained this scar working the hours of overtime to pay off Negan for my return.

"You've been working so hard," I say, my voice cracking slightly as tears are on the verge of flowing from my eyes.

"I'm doing whatever it takes to get you back home with me, where you're safe." He places his other hand on top of mine, squeezing gently. "I promise you – I'll get you out of this," he says with conviction.

I give him a weak smile, more out of politeness than agreement. I want to believe him, I really do, but our present circumstances with the attack causes me to be hesitant.

"I see that look," he says, pointing to me. "I know you're scared…. I know why, too. The ambush a few weeks ago?"

I lean forward in my chair, my eyes widening. "Wait, how? What else do you know? What is going on?" I ramble at top speed.

My father quickly shushes me and nervously looks towards the door, fully expecting Negan to barge in. After a moment, he continues. "Even though I'm not involved in that kind of shit anymore, I've learned to keep my ears open. A few days ago downtown, I overheard a couple of guys mention one of the Saviors getting blindsided the other week. I didn't want to believe it, but there was more talk and I knew it had to be true," he says in disbelief. "I never expected them to fire the first shot."

"Them? You mean the ones who did this?" I question, to which he replies with a single nod. "Who are they?"

"They call themselves the Whisperers," he says. "From what I know, they've been around for just as long as the Saviors. They essentially control the other half of the region that the Saviors don't have. The two have coexisted for decades with an unwritten law that one group will not cause conflict with the other. Kind of like a 'You stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours' kind of deal."

His story perfectly lines up to what I heard Negan and his lieutenants discussing during their meeting.

"Why did they break the deal now? The Saviors haven't done anything to them – I mean, the Whisperers." I correct myself, getting used to this 'rogue group' having a name.

"There's been talk of a change in leadership within the group. A guy named Joe had been calling the shots for decades. In fact, him and Negan were the ones who originally set the terms and territory borders. Apparently, over the last few years, one of his own rose through the ranks, gaining the trust and respect of the entire organization, at Joe's expense. He tried to hold onto his throne, though after many questionable calls, the majority essentially overthrew him, placing his protégé into power."

"New leader, new rules," I think out loud.

"Exactly. I don't know much about the new leader, just she goes by the name of Alpha.

"She?"

"Yeah, and from what I've heard, she wants the Saviors wiped off the map. Alpha wants the Whisperers to be the sole player in the cartel game and she's not afraid to do whatever it takes to make that happen. No one is safe."

I put my head down in my hands, my body rigid. This all feels unreal, like a lucid dream that I can't seem to wake up from. I'm supposed to be midway through my fall semester at TU, not caught in the middle of what seems to be an impending war between two of the largest, most infamous organizations in the drug game on this side of the continental U.S.

"What do we do?" I say more to myself, than to my father.

More than anything, what do I do? In the grand scheme of things, I'm the one who is caught in the crossfire, due to being in Negan's possession. My father is hundreds of miles away from the center of the battle, while I'm standing in no man's land.

"We run," he says firmly, as if his mind is already made up.

I can't help but chuckle at his absurd recommendation, though it ceases quickly when his stoic expression remains unchanged.

"Wait, you can't be serious?" I narrow my eyes in skepticism.

"I'm not about to lose you in the middle of all of this," he says, his tone desperate. "We can go right now. I've scouted this building before Sam, I know there is an exit towards the rear of the building. Once outside, all we would have to do is work our way through the woods, find a vehicle, and –,"

"Whoa!" I throw up my hands, stopping him mid-sentence. "We are  _not_  running! There's nowhere that we can go that he wouldn't find us."

My father shakes his head. "That's the thing; we can use this mess with the Whisperers to our advantage. He's going to be so preoccupied with defending his livelihood that we will be the least of his worries."

"You don't get it," I scoff. "Whether he comes after us now, or years from now, he's not going to stop searching until he finds us. He spent twenty-five years looking for you; can you imagine the lengths that he will go to find both of us?"

My father's brow creases in frustration, a frown etched on his face. Though he may not like my answer, he can't say that I'm wrong.

"It may already be too late," I continue. "The Whisperers jumped Fat Joey after he met with you. They knew exactly where to find him, which means they know about you and your deal with Negan. A little more digging and they'll also know that I obviously mean something to Negan as well. I've seen plenty of mafia movies to know that innocent people can easily be used as collateral, when necessary. If we run, they could very well come after us to get to Negan, putting another target on our backs."

I fall silent for a moment. "As bad as Negan is, me staying with him is the safest choice…."

With a grunt, my father plants his feet on the floor and thrusts his chair back, the metal legs sharply scrapping against the concrete floor. He gets up and huddles in the corner of the room. Leaning his back against one of the rusted lockers, he crosses his arms over his chest.

"So, you think that he can protect you better than what I can?" he demands with a sharp glare.

"That's not what I meant." I attempt to diffuse the situation, though I'm frustrated that he would even think something like that. "Dad, look at the facts - Negan has the manpower, guns, and resources. Staying in his good graces-."

"Good graces?!" my father exclaims. "God's sake Sam, do you hear yourself?"

I struggle to find words but couldn't even open my mouth as he continued his tirade.

"I can't believe this... Do you even understand what the hell you are saying? The man had nearly beaten me to death and forced you to be his wife! He's made our lives a living hell from the moment he set foot on the damn porch. I've sold off basically everything we have and I know that he's taken you out of the university too. So don't you give me any shit about how he can 'protect you.'"

My jaw drops. How my dad knew about me being out of university was beyond me. I stand up and walk over to my dad, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

"Dad, I-I know that it's hard to accept but it's the truth. Negan can protect me and I will make sure that he protects you too."

My father looks at me hard, there's a small softness in his eyes that makes me have hope of some understanding.

"Sam, please be honest," he whispers, his voice low and barely audible. "Does Negan rape you?"

My hand shoots off my father's arm as if it had been burned. The sudden, straight-forward question takes me aback and I can only imagine my shocked expression. However, my dad doesn't let up.

"Sweetheart, please, I-I can't understand it... Bu-but  _I_  can help you, please Sam..."

I shake my head, I have to put a stop to this. I need to set my dad straight.

"Negan doesn't rape me, hell he doesn't even touch me without my permission."

My dad blinks at this in surprise.

"It's true. He is a bastard but Negan doesn't condone rape and he enforces it to his men too. He really doesn't tolerate that kind of stuff dad."

"You slept with him."

I purse my lips wishing with all my heart to say 'no', but it's impossible to lie to my father. Slowly I nod.

"Yes," I confirm. "I slept with him, but...but I said yes, it was all done with my consent."

"And you still sleep with him?" My father asks raising an eyebrow.

I sigh and nod.

"With your consent."

I immediately see where my dad is getting at. I slowly nod. I feel like I'm watching my father age greatly before me. The color draining from his face, his newly slouched position and the defeated, empty expression in his eyes. I reach out to him but he pulls his hand out of the way.

"I can't believe it," he whispers. He looks up at me and I see pent-up fury etched in his face. "He beats you, puts a collar on you and hauls you around on a chain like a dog. How can you be so blind Sam?!"

I flinch as if struck.

"Do you enjoy it?" my father sneers angrily. "Do you enjoy laying at his side, while I'm out there trying to make ends meet?"

"N-No," I manage through a choked voice.

"No? Then what the fuck is that?" he replies angrily pointing at my revealing outfit. Suddenly, the clothes are all too tight, all too showy. I quickly wrap my arms around myself as if that would make it all better.

"He...Negan gave it to me."

"As what? A reward for having sex with him? Is that why you have no collar on too? Are you that easily bought?"

My cheeks flush in embarrassment. This is too much for me to be having this conversation with my dad, no matter the person. I choke back my tears and take in a breath.

"He found the guitar!"

Silence.

I'm breathing so heavily that it's nearly deafening, however on my father's end, there was nothing – it seemed like he had stopped breathing all together.

"What?"

The single word snaps me out of my angered trance. My mind goes over what I had just said and I place my hand to my mouth in mute shock, however the damage is done. I see tears shine in my dad's eyes as he too reflects on what he had just heard.

"He... He fo-found it dad...," I whisper, my voice cracks slightly. I recall playing it during the troubling times to sooth my spirit. "Negan found mom's guitar and bought it for me."

"So that's it huh? You think that him getting Elizabeth's guitar back makes him a damn saint? A fucking angel of heaven?"

My heart tightens when my dad says my mom's name. I wipe my eyes as my breath clogs in my throat.

"Wake up Sam, he's not what you think. Sure he bandages you up only for him to abuse you again, he bought you your mom's guitar only to buy your adoration-."

"You think I don't know that!" I scream "I know fully well all the shit he's done and I know what he's trying to do. But with what's coming, we can't hold out on our own. With Negan and I, that's not ho-."

"How it is?" my father finishes cruelly. "Really Sam? Then enlighten me! Tell me how is living underneath a stable roof, have good food, a warm bed and a man to protect you?"

I stare at my father as tears fall freely as my father's words harass me into submission.

My dad snorts. "Yeah, he'll protect me alright... Protect me and fucks you. In the end it seems that you and him are the big winners in all this and I'm just the fool who fucked up."

Without a word, I jump up from the seat and leave.

XXXXXX

Outside, I was moving so fast that the stupid, flowing shirt whips around me revealing my sides and back. Normally I would try and tame it down but I don't care at the moment. Simon is the first to see me and he motions to his leader. Negan turns about to speak but I move past both of them without a second thought.

"Whoa, slow your roll there swee-."

"Let's go!" I say, my tone sharp.

Negan and Simon are clearly both taken aback. They look at each other but I don't wait for either to speak and head over to the truck. Suddenly, a hand wraps around my wrist and I'm pulled back.

"Hold up there."

I'm forced to spin, at this point I'm practically vibrating to hold everything together. I can't let Negan see me upset, not so much as a single tear could fall. I take in a breath feeling my welling eyes cease.

"What's wrong?" That voice...a promise of comfort and stability in a time like this.

I force myself to remain firm, to not get sucked into the pretenses of what Negan is.

"It's nothing," I manage with an even voice. I look up praying that my eyes aren't glassy with tears. "I'm fine Negan."

My 'loving husband' clearly doesn't believe me as he looks back at the factory. I wrench my wrist from his hand causing his attention to return to me.

"Let's go," I repeat. I rush past him and get into the truck. I buckle myself up, making sure that it's secure for the ride home before grabbing the blindfold from it's place in the center console and wrap it around my eyes. I can hear Simon and Negan whispering but can't make out the words. Doesn't matter anyway so long as they don't head back to the factory.

What little luck I have left seems to be still working as Negan gives a sigh and orders Simon to follow us home.

XXXXXX

The ride was quiet. Negan had once again persisted on knowing what was wrong but I remained tight lipped. With the blindfold on, my tears were free to fall and be absorbed by the fabric, thus not giving anything away. After a few moments, Negan gives a disgruntled grunt and turns on the radio.

The music blares around, and soon Negan is tapping his finger and whistling along with the song. I know it's a way of scraping at me in order to get me to speak but I'm too flustered and stunned at the conversation I had with my dad. How can he berate me? It's his fault Negan had come up to our doorstep in the first place! Yet, despite that I've been on his side, through and through, hell even stood up to Negan. But one thing and he throws me to the wolves.

He doesn't understand the glass that I'm currently walking on, that if there is so much as a crack then Negan would take everything away just as easily as he gave.

Now he believes that I'm actually in love with Negan. There could be no worse situation. My words didn't seem to have any effect and thus making whatever I had said seem like I was defending the bastard. My own father... How could he? I watched him be beaten repeatedly, humiliated and taunted with me sometimes being the reason. Rewards or not, it doesn't change what Negan had done and the effects it still has on my father. But my dad's not even on my side anymore.

I clench my fist against the arm rest as my mind races over the danger we are now in. How could my dad do away with that so quickly? Even though it hurts, doesn't he see that Negan really is our only option? But, despite all reasonings, he chooses to ignore it all. Negan has the artillery and the defences to go toe-to-toe with this group. These Whisperers know that my father is involved with Negan and if they're so hell bent on ridding the Saviors, who knows what will happen to him.

What will happen to me?

I can't go to Negan, else I'll get in trouble. I can't go to Simon, he won't say a word. Even though Dwight and I have a mutual understanding, it's clear where he lies in the end. And my dad...

These people... Alpha and the Whisperers are capable of making large enough attacks to get Negan's attention, they don't hesitate and they don't seem to care who gets in the way. What will stop them from hurting innocents? What will stop them from marching right up to the Sanctuary's door?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Spitfire47.
> 
> *Cue dramatic music* Dun, dun, dun, dunnnnn!
> 
> WOW! What a reveal! Things keep going from bad to worse for Sam...
> 
> Thoughts? Going forward, what do you expect Negan's next move to be? Sam's? Do you fault Pete for his reaction? I can't wait to hear from you guys!
> 
> *The Whisperers come directly from the comics (and soon to be seen on season 9).*


End file.
